


To the best of my ability and judgment

by Time_that_is_given_to_you



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crew as Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Hurt Jim, Emotionally Hurt Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Gen, Hurt McCoy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Jim, Section 31, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Time_that_is_given_to_you/pseuds/Time_that_is_given_to_you
Summary: "I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant: [...] Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. [...] Above all, I must not play at God."Creating a serum to cure death itself has more consequences than Leonard could have imagined: When  former agents of Section 31 kidnap Doctor McCoy, the crew has to work together to bring their CMO home. Yet finding him might have been the easy part, leaving Jim to face the possibility that he may have lost his friend for good...





	1. Please don’t go

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. The original characters mentioned in this piece of fanwork belong to the original creators of Star Trek and Paramount Pictures. 
> 
> The title as well as the quotes in the summary are taken from the Hippocratic Oath. The chapter names are taken from the lyrics of the song "Illusion" by VNV Nation. There will be quotes and/or poems at the beginning of each chapter of which the respective author recognitions will be written underneath. 
> 
> English is not my first language!
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> I don't think that there are any potential triggers in this story but please read at your own caution anyway.  
> Also, I am not a doctor or in medical training, so I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> Apart from that: Enjoy! :)

" _The night is dark and full of terrors,_

_but the fire burns them all away._ "

Melisandre in “Game of Thrones”, George R.R. Martin

It was almost midnight, when Leonard McCoy was finally able to leave the hospital. The doctor sighed and tiredly ran a hand over his face as he stepped out of Starfleet Medical into the fresh night air of San Francisco. The hospital’s exit area was simultaneously lit by the dim light shimmering through the milky glass doors of the building behind him and a bright, whitish light of a street lamp right across the street. Blinking to convince his tired eyes that their job wasn’t done yet, Leonard turned right and started walking into the direction of his accommodation.

Since they had to move out on their first mission almost immediately after their graduation, and therefore had no real time to acquire a private flat, most of the Enterprise crew had to rely on Starfleet, or friends and family, to provide them with a place to stay until they had time and opportunity to find something suitable.

Given all the meetings, hearings and councils Leonard himself had to attend after the catastrophe that was Khan, next to his ongoing duties as a doctor and surgeon, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

To be fair though, for the moment this suited him just fine. The building where he was staying was a fairly new accommodation, especially for command and medical personnel, which meant that they were close to the medical as well as the command institutions where most of those meetings took place. It also meant that he lived in the same building as the senior command crew, which allowed him to spend the few spare minutes he had in his day with people about whom he genuinely cared. Also, since he shared a flat with Jim, as per both their requests, it was easier for him to keep track of Jim’s recovery and general health- both physically and mentally.

The days and weeks after Jim’s death (and the memory still sent a sharp pain through his heart whenever his thoughts strayed to all that happened since Pike’s death, which was basically every day) had been hell for Leonard.

_A month prior_

After Leonard realized that he had a chance to save his friend, that there was a real possibility to bring him back, he went into work mode entirely, pushing back all his emotions and turning out everyone and everything that could be considered a distraction. Basically, he turned into everything he always accused Spock of and if he weren’t so focused on his efforts to save their captain, he would appreciate the irony. Jim was going to live, he couldn’t consider any other outcome, there couldn’t BE any other outcome, and Leonard would do whatever necessary to make sure he had a chance. If it meant working on a serum developed from Khan’s blood for 72 hours straight, sustaining himself on stims and various sandwiches one member or another of the senior command crew always provided for him, then that was what Leonard would do.

Leonard didn’t remember much when thinking back to his work on the serum; only failure after failure, and a desperate drive to succeed, clinging to the shrinking hope to do the impossible.

And he did.

3 days after Jim had climbed into the warp core and sacrificed himself for his crew, Leonard tore him back from the hands of death. In keeping with their typical luck, of course, it wasn’t as simple as Jim just progressively getting better.

12 hours after Leonard injected the serum and six hours after they registered a heartbeat, Jim coded the first time. His heart simply gave out. Leonard managed to get him back but from that on there was always a new crisis.

His lungs collapsed.

His kidneys shut down.

His heart gave out again.

By the time Jim coded a third time, Leonard was a wreck. The only reason he was still functioning was because he had more stims running through his veins than blood (Nyota’s words, once she got the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind) and because he was too stubborn to admit defeat. He wasn’t going to lose another battle with the Grim Reaper over a person he loved. He might not have been able to save his father, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose Jim. And finally, Leonard emerged victorious. After Jim’s third cardiac arrest, he eventually started to improve.

His heartbeat became stronger.

He was able to breathe on his own.

His kidneys started working again.

But the most important thing, and the one possibility Leonard had feared the most when injecting Jim with the serum, was the concern of brain damage. They had put Jim in an artificial coma immediately after he had first shown signs of coming back to life to reduce the stress with which his body would have to deal after his resurrection. Now that his condition was steadily improving, they slowly started to take him off medication. Leonard held his breath when he got the first results of Jim’s brain activity. And then he started to laugh, so hard that he finally began crying.

Because Jim’s brain was fine. There was no long- or short-term damage recognizable on the scans. Jim would be well again.

It took another day until Jim showed signs of waking up and when it appeared as if he would come to any moment Leonard called for Spock so that the Vulcan could be there when Jim opened his eyes.

When Spock entered the room, he looked at the doctor with tightly pressed lips and raised both his eyebrows in an uncharacteristic show of worry, yet he refrained from saying anything. Probably because he still remembered the shouting that had occurred the last time someone had mentioned Leonard’s own health.

And then Jim opened his eyes.

Ignoring the painful squeeze in his chest, Leonard focused on pretending everything was just as usual, grumbling a little bit to hide his tremendous relief, and Jim playing along, looking fondly at his friend. The read-outs he got from the bio-bed and the scanner also indicated that apart from some muscle weakness, Jim was almost as healthy as before, and Leonard allowed himself a deep breath of relief for the first time in two weeks.

Then Jim thanked Spock for saving his life and something in Leonard snapped. He felt himself come apart, like a castle of glass through which a crack ran from the bottom to the top, splitting it into millions of sharp-edged pieces, ready to fall apart at any moment. His hands- _the steadiest hands in the fleet-_ started to shake, and tears were gathering in his eyes. His professional self, the only remaining functional part of his, took over and he quietly excused himself to retreat to his office, so his patient wouldn’t witness his breakdown. He didn’t want to be seen in this state, not by Jim, especially not so shortly after his full return to the living.

Once the tears came, Leonard couldn’t stop them. It was like his body recognized that the purpose that had kept him going had been achieved, and then decided that it was high time to shut down. As if from a distance he noticed that his breathing became short and his heart beat drastically increased. When black spots started to dance in front of his vision, his last thought was that he really should have seen that coming.

He could only remember fragments of what happened after. Soft hands that gently tapped his face, a voice right above his head, but muffled and unrecognizable. The soft texture of a bio-bed underneath him. Violently shivering from fever attacks while his body felt as if it were on fire at the same time. Throwing up again and again until he felt as if he had heaved up his gullet as well. Dreams of Jim dying under his hands, again and again. Jim standing in front of him, pale as the day he had lain in this body bag, accusing him of failing. He remembered someone screaming until there was a pinch at his neck, and then nothing. Only darkness. 

When Leonard next came to, it was to the quiet sounds of the hospital during its evening routine, when loud activities were usually held to a minimum and the nurses and doctors on the corridors were conversing only in hushed voices; to the beeping of the machine that monitored his heart rate; and to the feeling of fingers entwined with his. It took more effort than he cared to admit to himself, but he managed to turn his head and open his eyes just slightly. The sight that greeted him caused his heartbeat to almost skyrocket again in panic.

Jim was sitting in a wheelchair next to Leonard’s bed, his hand softly holding the doctor’s while he appeared to be reading something on his PADD. At the sudden increasing noise of the heart monitor, he looked up worriedly, only to be met with Leonard’s own panicked gaze. Because Jim was supposed to be in a bio-bed, resting and focusing on his own recovery. He should be worrying about all the issues that dying and being resurrected ultimately brought with them, and not sitting here, next to Leonard, bothering with him.

“Sh, Bones, calm down. It’s alright, you’ll be alright!” Putting aside his PADD, Jim leant closer to Leonard, grasping his hand more tightly and at the same time brushing some strands of unruly hair out of his face. And because they knew the other better than they knew themselves, Jim immediately seemed to sense that Leonard wasn’t worked up about his own health and, after giving a frustrated sigh, he murmured, “I’m FINE, Bones! The doctors wouldn’t let me be here if that wasn’t the case and once you calm down you’ll realize that too. My body is working the same as it did … before. The only thing I need to work on is the strength in my muscles, which is why I’m sitting in this lovely chair. Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu and Chekov keep me company and take care of me, just as all the doctors and nurses here.” Both of his hands were holding Leonard’s at this point. “I’m not reckless about this, I swear it, Bones. Not after the stupid stunt you pulled to make sure I have another chance. So, all you have to do is focus on yourself and your own health, for once, and let others do the caretaking.”

Slightly calmed, Leonard tried to speak, only to find that his throat had turned into a desert and wouldn’t produce more than raspy sounds. Seeing his struggles, Jim provided him with some water but asked him to only take small sips as it would take some time until he could keep down much, to which Leonard only rolled his eyes. Once he had wet his throat, Leonard grumbled, “Dammit Jim, you should be in your bed, resting. You are recovering from a massive trauma, and I don’t really trust my colleagues here if they decide it’s alright to let you roll around on your merry way all by yourself and simply inform a patient of another’s medical status…”

“Now hold on, Bones! First, I didn’t ‘roll on my merry way’ or whatever; Nurse Chapel actually brought me here and only after they had run every test they could think of to assure I was fine.”

“I’m sure I would have administered more.”, Leonard murmured.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you would have. Second, they didn’t ‘simply’ tell me. I pestered them long enough until some poor soul, whose name shall not be revealed for their own protection, told me what happened. Or do you seriously expect me not to wonder when my primary physician and best friend doesn’t make an appearance for three days?”

That made Leonard pause. “Shit, three days?!”

Jim nodded. “You seriously did a number on yourself and once you’re better, we’ll have a word about that. I can’t have you as Chief Medical Officer put your health at such unnecessary risk.”

Leonard wanted to defend himself, and point out the hypocrisy, but Jim interrupted him. “Not now, Bones. For now, we both need to rest, and I don’t wanna have this conversation when we’re both not up for it!” Leonard raised an eyebrow, not used to James T. Kirk being the sensible one. “Don’t give me that look!”

Jim gave him a small smile and then quickly glanced at the time displayed over the door. “Nurse Chapel should be here in a couple of minutes to check on you and to bring me back to my room. I suggest you rest for a bit.”

Leonard wanted to say that he was the doctor, not Jim, and he better not start pestering him now, but the exhaustion he hadn’t been able to shake off since waking up finally caught up with him. His eyelids became heavier and he started to drift off when Jim leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “Thank you, Len! I may never be able to say that again so directly because you know how I am with emotions but thank you! Thanks for saving my life, for not giving up on me! And I – I just want you to know that I would do the same. I won’t ever give up on you and as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be there.”

He wanted to answer but sleep finally dragged him under.

It took another four days before Leonard was allowed out of the hospital, despite his arguing that he was a doctor and would know when he was healthy enough to be discharged. To which Spock, one of his frequent visitors, coolly countered that if that were the case, he wouldn’t have been admitted as a patient in the first place. Leonard wasn’t able to convince him otherwise since emotions “were not a logical choice on which to base this decision”. He was still somewhat shaky on his legs and got slightly nauseous around food but at least he felt like a human being again.

Jim had to stay another two weeks for physical training, to help his muscles recover some of their natural strength. Leonard used the time to reclaim his position as Jim’s primary physician and to use that as an excuse to avoid Starfleet admiralty. Now that word had gotten out that Jim was on the way of recovery and able to receive visitors, the admiralty was understandably interested in the procedures that had been undertaken to ensure Jim’s resuscitation. Spock had been unable to prevent some rumors from spreading; too many people had seen the captain’s body when he had been transported to medical bay. Although the facts were vague enough, two points were undeniable: James Kirk had died trying to save his crew, and his Chief Medical Officer, Leonard H. McCoy, had somehow brought him back.

It was this “somehow” that interested the higher ups and kept Leonard in numerous meetings, trying to obscure and minimize what he had done. Not only because admitting to basically violating the Hippocratic Oath would cost him his career and his medical license. But once he had the time to really think about what he had created, a serum that could cure death itself, he realized what a dangerous weapon this could turn out to be. While his intentions had been private and good, ultimately there would be people trying to profit from it. The cure of death could become something like a commodity, soon only available to the rich and privileged, and maybe even only to certain races, eventually turning into another means to differentiate and divide. Not to mention the implications of what could happen if the wrong people managed to cheat death.

Therefore Leonard, supported by Spock, Uhura and Scotty twisting their own reports to match his testimony and making sure to let compromising surveillance material disappear discreetly, altered the truth: he stated that Jim had been without a heartbeat only for a few seconds but that he had been able to revive him on board of the Enterprise. The following days the captain had spent in a medically induced coma during his cell therapy to counter the radiation effect.

_Present_

Today, after countless follow up questions, Leonard’s account had finally been approved. Which was why he was still up at twenty-three forty-five and on his way to his flat: the last meeting had taken longer than anticipated and Leonard had been the last one of the senior crew to leave the hall where his hearings had been held. After a quick check-in with his most critical patients, the doctor was now only looking forward to a quick shower, preferably with real water, and then falling into bed. Jim would most likely complain as they had planned to order some food and watch an episode of the holo-series “The Empire” but Leonard was simply too tired to care about that. He would make it up to him tomorrow.

The academy grounds around him were deserted at this hour. In the distance, he could hear some faint music, probably from someone who had left their window open due to the moderate summer air. Despite the late time, it was still quite warm which was unusual for this time of the year. September evenings often were already quite chilly, so it was a nice change to still be able to walk across campus without a pullover or jacket. The street lamps along the path spent a warm, yellow light and illuminated the way before him. It was quite the peaceful atmosphere and Leonard found himself almost enjoying the short walk home. It woke him up a little bit and calmed his nerves which had been strained since the first meeting at eight in the morning. Maybe he would watch the episode with Jim after all.

Leonard estimated he was only two more minutes away from his accommodation when the street lights suddenly went out. The doctor sighed. A month had passed since the disaster with Khan, but the city wasn’t back to normalcy yet. Debris was still lying around at some of the places where skyscrapers, family homes and businesses had once stood, and the public power supply was still not completely restored. Which led to occasional blackouts like the one he had the luck to experience right now. Granted, it was just a minor inconvenience compared to the human losses the city suffered that day but was nonetheless quite annoying at night.

He was about to continue his way home in the dark when he heard a sudden noise, almost like footsteps, behind him. Startled, he turned around, only to see nothing. Shaking his head, he walked on. Now he was already imagining things.

When he heard the steps again, this time much closer and coming from his right, he felt his heartbeat instinctively quickening. He was anything but timid or anxious, but he always had what constituted as a good gut feeling, and right now it was screaming at him that something wasn’t right here. He stopped to listen more closely and peered into the dark on his right side, but again the noise had stopped and there was nothing to see. The night was eerily quiet all of a sudden, only the silhouettes of the campus buildings discernible in the darkness. Leonard could feel cold sweat breaking out on his skin, making him shiver even in the mild air and all his senses screaming at him to leave, to get somewhere safe. To get home. Get to Jim.

Jim! Struck by the sudden thought, the doctor pulled out his personal communicator to call his best friend and captain, when sudden movement behind him made him flinch and drop the device while turning around.

There was a man in front of him, almost in his personal space. Dressed in civilian clothing, dark blue jeans and a black sweater, his face had a somewhat amused expression as he mustered Leonard. While the rest of the man’s body language seemed relaxed, it was the eyes that cautioned Leonard to leave his guard up. They were serious and cold, regarding him with a calculating intent.

Warily, Leonard looked at him and took a step back to get some space between himself and the stranger. “Good God, man, what are you doing, sneaking up on me like that? You wanna give me a heart attack?”

The man laughed and took a step nearer, placing him right in Leonard’s personal space again. The doctor felt himself tense up even more at the proximity that had the hairs at his neck standing up and his skin starting to itch. Whatever it was, sixth sense, intuition or logic, everything was screaming at him to leave, now!

“I am sorry, that certainly was not my intention. After all, your services are still needed.”

Leonard felt himself go cold at these words, yet he managed to plaster an annoyed impression on his face, giving the man a skeptical look. “And what makes you think ’m willing to help a mysterious stranger who doesn’t know the concept of personal space and scares the shit out of unsuspecting pedestrians?”

Again, the man laughed, but instead of backing away, he leaned even closer to Leonard, grasping his upper arm tightly. His heart started beating frantically in his chest and he couldn’t avoid the violent flinch while he tried to wrestle his arm free. The stranger holding him wouldn’t yield. Instead he smiled. “Oh, I am sorry, Doctor McCoy, you misunderstood. You seem to be under the impression that we need your permission. Let me clarify: You are in possession of some very unique knowledge and skills, and we will have your cooperation. With or without your consent.”

Leonard felt himself pale at this. It couldn’t be. The man couldn’t be talking about what he suspected, nobody outside the senior command crew and the medical team present that day knew what exactly he had done to safe Jim. His report had just been accepted from the admiralty and the Head of Starfleet Medical.

“Despite the lack of light, I feel we are awfully exposed out here. Maybe we should take this to a more private setting?”

He was still speaking when Leonard felt another sudden presence behind him. Trying to turn but hindered by the stranger’s hand holding his arm, he jerked when he felt the cold metal of a hypo on his neck. A small hiss was all the warning he received before whatever substance had been in the container was released into his bloodstream.

Wide-eyed, he turned back to the man holding him, panic setting in now. “You bastards, what…” That was all he managed before a cloth was pressed over his mouth, silencing him instantly. He felt two pairs of arms grabbing him from behind, pinning his arms to his body and dragging him to the ground.

Leonard tried to fight them, he really did. But while he kept himself fit in the gym and occasionally sparred with Jim or Sulu, he wasn’t a soldier. The people holding him down obviously were and were superior in their strength as well. Leonard bucked and twisted, trying everything to get their hands off him but they wouldn’t relent, and he found himself tiring. His movements became sluggish, his body obviously slowed down by the substance in his blood. In a last desperate attempt, he tried to fight the drugs, tried to remain alert, but his mind was just as affected as his body. Leonard felt his thoughts starting to drift and himself edging closer to unconsciousness. The last words he heard were “Pick him up” and he felt his limp body being grabbed roughly under the arms. Then he fell into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, let me know what you think! :)


	2. I want you to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, but at least you get a long chapter out of it! :)

_“Some say the world will end in fire, …_

_But if I had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice … would suffice”_

Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”

When Jim awoke the next morning, it was to the sight of his room slowly being illuminated by the rising sun, painting the walls and bookcase next to the door in a faint golden glimmer. Jim couldn’t help himself but smile while he closed his eyes and buried a little deeper into the mattress and the warm blanket covering him. It was such a peaceful moment, knowing that he still had a couple of minutes before he had to get up, and giving him the possibility to enjoy the tranquility of the morning.

There hadn’t been that many opportunities to simply revel in the fact that he was still alive. That he had gotten another shot to experience mornings like this; to spend more time with his friends and his crew; to salvage the relationship with his mother and brother; to achieve all the things he had wanted to accomplish before his death. It was a gift, a gift for which he still felt guilty when his thoughts strayed to those who hadn’t been so lucky. And there had been many people, from his crew, who had at least to some extent known what could happen during their service at Starfleet, to thousands of civilians, who hadn’t done anything but going after their regular life and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. His feeling of guilt had been ineffable when he had first heard the official death toll from Spock and only after he had started to see a therapist had he been able to forgive himself little by little.

Jim hadn’t wanted to see a therapist, at the beginning, insisting that he was fine, on the outside at least, and planning to deal with this tragedy as he always had: keeping his feelings to himself and working harder to prevent something like this from ever happening again. It hadn’t been until Nyota- dying had finally allowed him to be on a first name basis with the communication officer- had lost her patience and had all but shouted at him if he really were that selfish that he wouldn’t even consider what his actions were doing to his friends. He had been somewhat lost as to what she had meant with her statement; after all, he was always keeping the wellbeing of his crew, and especially his friends, in mind when acting. In his surprise by her flash of anger, he had said as much.

_Three weeks earlier_

Uhura looked at him for some seconds, before she sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. Then she set down on the chair next to Jim’s bio bed, took hold of his hand and looked at him with an expression that appeared soft and stern at the same time.

“Jim, do you really not know what it does to us to see you like this? I don’t mean to say that we don’t appreciate what you do for us, the big sacrifices as well as the little things to show you care, but Jim- do you really think we would want you to neglect yourself in an effort to please and to protect us? Do you really think that makes us happy?”

Jim furrowed his brow at that. “I- I’m not sure I understand what you mean. As captain, it’s my job to make sure the crew is as safe as they can be when we’re up in the black.” He gave her a sadly twisted smile. “Took me long enough to realize that’s my most important duty.” He shook his head when she opened her mouth to say something. “No, I deserve that, Nyota. But, I’ve realized it, so I do whatever necessary to achieve this goal. And as a friend- well, of course my friends’ happiness is important to me. I don’t see what you mean.”

Uhura sighed at that, looking unsure whether to strangle or hug him. “Jim, I’m not asking you not to do your job or to stop being a good friend. But, especially in regard to your friends, think how we feel when we see you in a hospital bed, recovering from being dead or from another disastrous run-in with the natives of a new planet, and brushing it off as nothing, not taking care of yourself, physically or mentally. Do you honestly believe we’re happy when you do that?”

He was quiet, not yet willing to see her point. Uhura’s gaze hardened at that, and she abruptly withdrew her hands to lean back in the chair.

“Alright then, let’s switch perspective for a second, shall we? How did you feel when Leonard completely disregarded his own health to the point that he had to be hospitalized, to work on the serum that brought you back? Do you think it was necessary to go to that extreme?”

Jim swallowed and had to look away. He still couldn’t decide on how he felt about what Bones had done. Grateful, of course, that he had brought him back, had given him another chance at life, but also incredibly guilty that he had worked himself to the ground on his account and that he had to deal with the admiralty’s nosiness because of it.

Tensely, he growled out, “He shouldn’t have worked that hard. I still would have been alright if he had taken a bit longer, and if he had let some of the other doctors also take part in my care, once I was—brought back. But—that’s different.”

Uhura rolled her eyes. “Why is it different?”

“Because- he’s Bones. He grumbles and complains at every turn, but underneath, there is just this big heart of his and- I don’t know, he tends to disregard himself when he cares about people, so someone else has to do it- He’s a good person. And I- Well, I can take care of myself, I don’t need anyone to look after me.”

At some point, Uhura had started massaging the bridge of her nose as if she was trying to ward off a headache. “For being such a genius in some areas, you really act as a complete idiot in others.”

Jim was just the tiniest bit insulted, but before he was able to get in a protest, she continued, “Alright, then let me spell it out for you: think how you feel about Leonard being a self-sacrificing fool when it comes to his own well-being. And then accept that we feel the same about you, whether you believe me or not. When you don’t take care of yourself, you inadvertently end up hurting us sometimes. Because we worry about you.”

Admittedly, Jim didn’t know what to say to that. His friends shouldn’t worry about him, he could take care of himself, always had. He was supposed to be strong, to be the leader, the captain to whom everyone could look up to for guidance. He was fine, he didn’t need help.

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice how his hands had balled into fists until he felt Uhura uncurling them gently. When he looked up at her, she smiled softly and murmured, “Please, Jim.  Even if you think you don’t need therapy after what happened to you, do it for us. Do it for Leonard. He’s still so scared about your health and it would help him worry less. Us all, to be honest.”

And Jim looked into her eyes and found himself agreeing.

_Present_

So, for the last couple of weeks Jim had gone to see a psychotherapist. To be honest, his feelings towards therapy were still mixed: on one hand, he couldn’t deny that these sessions helped him tremendously in dealing with his emotions concerning his return to the living when so many others could not; on the other hand, Jim still felt uncomfortable talking about his feelings with a stranger and had difficulties accepting the help his therapist offered through their counselling. Hell, it had taken until the end of the first year at the academy before he had been able to open up to Bones to some extent. Luckily- or unluckily, he couldn’t really decide on that matter- his therapist, a female Betazoid, was as stubborn as every doctor dealing with James T. Kirk had to be, so there had been some slow progress which helped him come to terms with his revival as well as his survivor’s guilt. Not disregarding his own responsibility in what had happened but accepting that he wasn’t fully to blame for all the death. A lot, if not most, was due to Marcus and Khan; Jim had been too caught up in his grief over Pike to see how they had manipulated him. While that wouldn’t absolve him completely, it helped him to deal with it and give up on some of the feelings of guilt.

The sound of his communicator vibrating roused him from his thoughts. Giving a tremendous sigh at the prospect of leaving his comfortable bed, Jim slowly sat up and stretched his arms over his head. Reluctantly, he got up and walked to his desk where here left his communicator overnight. He was somewhat surprised to see that it was a message from the new commander in chief of Starfleet, Fleet Admiral Cartwright, asking all admirals as well as present captains and first officers to meet at zero-nine hundred at Starfleet Headquarter. Even more curious than a message from the highest ranking official of the fleet was the stated meeting place: Conference Room _007_ , a reference to the popular secret agent of the 20th and 21st century, was equipped with extra security measures against any compromise from hackers or the like and was usually only used in times of potential or actual crises. That the admiral wanted to confer there, only a month after Admiral Marcus’ betrayal and Khan’s rampage, left Jim with an uneasy feeling in his gut.  

Stepping outside his room while still looking at his communicator, Jim walked over to the kitchenette. He placed the device on one of the cabinets before he started making himself a strong cup of coffee and a quick breakfast. Bones wasn’t around to bug him about his health, so he allowed himself to indulge a little bit by making pancakes, dousing them with a huge amount of chocolate cream. Based on how the day had started he figured he would need the sugar rush.

While he enjoyed the heaven that was his breakfast, his gaze wandered to the closed door of his best friend’s and flatmate’s bedroom. Jim was 99% sure that Bones was already at his shift at Starfleet Medical. His working schedule was ridiculous and combined with the additional meetings, Jim was lucky to see his CMO every other day. Yesterday had at least been a success in that regard as that the admiralty had finally accepted Bones’ account on how exactly Jim was still alive after climbing into a radioactive warp core -and no amount of counselling would absolve him of the guilt he felt when he thought about all the lies his friends had to make on his account and the dire consequences it could have for all of them should they be found out. They had agreed on celebrating by ordering from their favorite Thai-place and watching an episode from “The Empire”- Jim had wanted to watch the newest one but since they were ridiculously behind, he had to admit to himself that it would make more sense to just continue where they had left. It was a highly complex plot and they wanted to understand the connections, after all.

But Bones hadn’t come home last night and while Jim was a little disappointed and, if he was honest with himself, annoyed that his friend had cancelled their plans without informing him about his unavailability, he also understood. It had happened often enough in the last two weeks that Bones had come home way past midnight and left early in the morning. Medical personnel were still working hard to deal with all the wounded after Khan, and though it obviously got a bit easier as people with lesser injuries were released from the hospital, the critical as well as the regular patients kept them on their toes.

But while it wasn’t unusual for Bones to come home way too late or even not at all, not calling to cancel their plans definitely was. It didn’t sit right with Jim and he planned to hunt his friend down after the meeting and give him a taste of his own medicine, namely a stern talk about the importance of rest and taking care of your health as well as informing your friends if you had to cancel a set date. Oh, he would love that, especially coming from Jim.

With that thought, Jim finished his breakfast and went on with his morning routine. Checking Bones’ room gave him exactly the sight he had expected: an empty room with a made bed. It was a beautiful late September morning when he stepped outside his flat and made his way over to Headquarter. The sun was out and slowly warming the air that had not yet lost its fresh taste, and while most of the leaves on the trees were still green, there were some colorful additions to their splendor, reminding everyone that autumn had already arrived. A couple of people were already awake and filling the campus, but it was still early enough to not be as crowded as it could occasionally be during the day.

It was a fifteen minutes’ walk from his apartment and Jim always enjoyed the opportunity to get out and move around. Although he had gotten the all clear from his physiotherapist, his muscles still felt stiff and weak compared to before and as much as he hated to admit it, he realized he had to slowly get them used to more strenuous work again. A short walk from their flat to Headquarter was a good start to wake up his body.  

Quite a lot of people were busily buzzing around when Jim entered the building and placed his hand on a sensor to grant him entrance and confirm his identity. Walking towards the conference room, he saw that most of the admirals and quite a lot of captains and their respective first officers were already present. Jim furrowed his brow on account of the apparent bustle; while it was not entirely unusual, the rush in combination with this morning’s message made his stomach clench in anticipation. He went to take his seat next to Spock, who, unsurprisingly, had arrived before him.

“Captain”, said Spock as a way of greeting, inclining his head slightly in Jim’s direction.

“Mister Spock”, Jim answered, smiling at his first officer. “I suppose you don’t know what all of this is about?”

Spock drew his eyebrows together, the only sign that he seemed displeased with being left in the dark. “Negative, Captain, although I am sure that we will be informed of the reason behind this meeting shortly. However, I find the location to be disconcerting; conference room _007_ is only used in times of emergencies, so whatever it is about which the commander-in-chief wants to inform us, cannot be of positive value.”

Jim sighed. “Yeah, I thought so, too. I had just hoped that after everything that happened last month- I just hoped that we would get a short break before our bad luck struck again.”

Spock looked at him blankly. “I do not understand what the superstitious belief in bad or good luck has to do with the convening of this meeting.”

Before Jim could respond, Fleet Admiral Cartwright entered the conference room. Immediately all noise came to abrupt halt and the present Fleet personnel stood to attention. When the admiral arrived at his seat at the top of the long glass table, he nodded at them before gesturing with his hand for them to sit down again.

Tomas Cartwright was a man in his early sixties with grey strands at his temples that were slowly spreading through the rest of his black hair. His eyes were of a dark brown and they regarded the assembled people in front of him with a serious look before he raised his smooth voice to address them.

“Admirals, Captains, Officers, thank you for your attendance. I know it was of rather short notice. However, as most of you have probably already assumed by the choice of venue, we are at risk of a new potential crisis threatening the Fleet and, possibly, the entire Federation.”

His words were met with tense silence. The threat of yet another threat, so shortly after the last attack on a Fleet building and the later subsequent destruction of parts of San Francisco, was deeply unsettling to all of them, and Jim saw a couple of eyes anxiously looking to their neighbor as if they were hoping to have misheard, that this new emergency wouldn’t be as bad. Jim felt the same trepidation and when he glanced over at Spock, he recognized from the tenseness of his shoulders that his first officer felt the same, although his face remained stoic.

Cartwright was entering some instructions into the comm station integrated into the conference table and the pictures of three men and one woman appeared on the big screen behind him and on the small ones in front of everyone. “As you are already aware, after the traitorous actions of my predecessor, Admiral Marcus, Section 31 has been shut down until further notice and all of its personnel have been brought in for investigation, to check their involvement in the waking of Khan and Marcus’ plan to incite a war with the Klingon Empire.”

His face remained impassive while talking, but the skin around his mouth seemed to tighten as if he had to keep his temper in check. “The men and woman you see before you are former Starfleet employees who had worked in Section 31 and have already been found guilty of treason against the Fleet.”

The Fleet Admiral pointed to the first picture, depicting a black-haired man whose grey-blue eyes looked neutrally towards the camera. Overall, he appeared unremarkable, yet there was something - in the way he held himself, an almost smile curling around his mouth – that would have made Jim wary of him had he encountered him anywhere. “Commander Benedict Centrich was the head of the weaponry department of Section 31. He was one of the first members of Section 31 and always supportive of Marcus; it is not surprising that he would try to continue their mission. Lieutenant Commander Porter Simril”, here Cartwright gestured towards a blonde, a scar running down the left side of his face, “seems to have been responsible for security within said department; we haven’t completely established his full role yet, but he seems to have been a fairly recent addition to the department. Lieutenant Commander Nolan Wildner”, nodding towards the image of a dark-skinned man, whose handsome features looked as amused as they could be on an official Star Fleet portrait, “was the head of the engineering department whose responsibility it was to create new weapons and technology to place us in an advanced position against all possible enemies. During his interrogation, he seemed aggrieved about the death toll the entire Khan fiasco caused, yet he still considered their path of war to be the correct and only possible one.”

At the picture of the middle-aged woman, red hair curling in soft waves around a pale face, Cartwright paused briefly. The commander-in-chief regarded her darkly ere he continued. “Finally, Doctor Katherina Tyrell was not only the head of the medical department but seems to have been involved in research on bio warfare and alterations of the brain as well; she had been a promising addition to Medical. This is all we could gather from the evidence we found. When we stormed the base of Section 31, the present personnel were rather busy destroying all and every proof that could incriminate them”, Cartwright finished dryly.  

He stopped for a second to look at the assembled people in front of him. “Starfleet Security, which has been responsible for their interrogation, has informed me that these four people can be regarded among those most loyal to Marcus and his ideals. Yesterday evening, it was found that they not only had managed to escape jail at some point during the day, which has yet to be established as they took great care in covering their tracks but were also able to take with them a number of devices developed by Section 31. Among those were bombs, small enough to fit into a handbag if need be but still able to destroy an entire neighborhood inside a radius of eight kilometers.”

Cartwright paused and for a moment seemed rather tired, as if this new crisis so soon after the last made him wish he had never taken the position of commander-in-chief. Then he looked at the assembled group intently. “I think I don’t have to tell you what threat weapons like these can pose in the hands of individuals who are set in their belief that war is inevitable and probably feel a lot of resentment towards Starfleet.”

Jim sighed quietly. To have another situation so soon after the last was not only disconcerting but also frustrating. Why did some people insist on the old ways, and consider war as the only way to solve any conflict? Had history taught them nothing?

An image of Christopher Pike flashed before his eyes and he felt the familiar ache constrict his chest and rip at his heart. Pike, and so many others, even his father, could still be alive if people would finally cease to solve their conflicts with violence. 

The voice of Fleet Admiral Cartwright roused him from his thoughts. “Admirals, Captains, Officers, I know I can count on you to treat this information with the required urgency and secrecy. No word is yet to be sent to the city’s civilian population to avoid panic, but I expect you to use all of Starfleet’s resources to ensure that these individuals are found as soon as possible. This threat is of the highest priority and while the everyday workings of the Fleet cannot stand still for an undefined period of time I am sure you know without which personnel you can make do temporarily so that their skills can be utilized in this search.” To his left and right, people inclined or nodded their heads and Jim found himself doing the same while already compiling a list in his mind of Enterprise crew members that would be of valuable help.

Cartwright continued to look at them for a moment longer before he dropped his gaze to the comm station and entered a couple of commands. “Very well. I have sent more detailed information to your PADDs about the fugitives as well as all the steps that have already been taken to trace them. I want you to keep me and Admiral Henry, who - as all of you should be aware of by now – is the new head of Starfleet Security, posted about all progress made in this matter. Dismissed.”

As they got up from their seats, murmur rose as captains began conversing with their first officers and admirals started discussing possible steps to be taken. Jim was just about to turn to Spock when he noticed Admiral Cartwright moving towards him and the Vulcan. Out of habit, he straightened, and from the corner of his eye he could see Spock adapting perfect parade posture.

“At ease, gentlemen. I would ask you to accompany me to my office. There are some special orders and information for the Enterprise crew that I would like to discuss in a more private setting.”

Jim nodded curtly, feeling the hair at the back of his neck stand up; a private conversation with the head of Starfleet concerning such a serious matter was never good. “Of course, Admiral.”

They quickly made their way to the tenth floor where most admirals’ offices were located. The busy activities Jim had noticed when he had entered the building in the morning had not decreased, on the contrary. Beings of various ranks were busily scurrying from one office to another, making the place feel even more like a beehive than usual.

Fleet Admiral Cartwright’s office had a complete glass-front on one side, giving him a perfect view over the Academy’s grounds. From this height, the students in their cadet uniforms looked like red dots moving over a field. A large, robust wooden desk had replaced the modern model Admiral Marcus had favored. Walking around it to sit down in his office chair, Cartwright gestured for Jim and Spock to take a seat in the two chairs in front of it.

“Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, the head of Starfleet Security has informed me that the fugitives might be a special risk for members of the Enterprise crew. The Enterprise played a crucial role in taking down Marcus and preventing a war with the Klingon Empire. I think we can safely assume that, as Marcus’ loyal officers, the escaped prisoners will regard crew members of the Enterprise as targets, since you thwarted their mission.”

The brief silence between them was almost deafening before Spock replied in a measured tone. “May I share an observation, Admiral? While I agree that the prisoner’s ire might be directed to members of the Enterprise in general, simply because they were stationed on the ship, I would argue that it is primarily the bridge crew that raised their anger. It was us that made the decisions leading to Marcus’ failure.”

Admiral Cartwright nodded. “I agree with your conclusion, Mister Spock. It is certainly the senior command crew that played the biggest part in preventing a war with the Klingons – and I don’t say that to negate the sacrifices and contributions of the rest of the crew; everybody went above and beyond their duty that day. Yet from the perspective of those fugitives, the command crew might pose the best target for any revenge they might be planning.”

Jim could feel his heartrate increasing as he tried to covertly wipe his increasingly sweaty hands on his uniform. His crew was in danger, again, because he had done the right thing and stopped Marcus. Because they had just done their job. Because they had been on the Enterprise. And because Marcus’ supporters weren’t willing to see the wrong of their ways and needed to try again.

Anger flashed through him and he had to restrain himself to not let his fury show on his face. He knew his eyes would convey the message well enough. “I understand. And what are your orders, Admiral?”

Cartwright’s features seemed to soften and there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he answered, “I know how you feel, Kirk. Don’t forget that I was Captain for a long time before I became an admiral. I know all too well how it feels to have the privilege – and burden – of being responsible for the safety of so many people, your crew, your friends, weighing on your shoulders. Then, as well as now, I despised those who posed a threat to my extended family. Your actions, Kirk, show me that you care as much as I do about the people serving underneath you. Therefore, I expect you to undertake all necessary precautions to ensure their safety.”

The knot of tension which had taken residence in his chest since they arrived in the admiral’s office, impeding every breath he drew, eased a little bit at these words. Shoulders sagging on their own accord, Jim nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Cartwright nodded, then leaned back in his chair. “Report to me which steps you have taken to keep your crew members safe. Apart from that, your orders are the same as I have given downstairs during the meeting. Dismissed.”

They didn’t say a word on their way to the elevator. Jim was lost in his thoughts and Spock- well, who ever really knew what Spock was thinking, but Jim guessed that he was probably already considering the next steps that had to be taken to protect the crew. Jim was trying to do so too, but underneath the façade of a captain, he felt deeply unsettled.

Only a month.

They had only gotten a month before the next disaster.

Once they stepped into the turbo lift, he turned to Spock. “Mister Spock, please send out a message to all head of departments and ask them to come to my- uhm or maybe your office at fifteen hundred this afternoon, absence only in case of emergency.” He smiled ruefully at his First Officer. “I hope it’s alright that we take your office. I don’t think meeting in my probably unfurnished and definitely unused office would give a good impression. Not to mention that I don’t have the slightest idea where it actually is. Huh, guess I should look into that,” he said, trying to appear less agitated than he actually felt.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I agree with your reasons, Captain. I have no problem with sharing my office for the purpose of this meeting. Also, I assume that the location of your office was sent to you via message two weeks ago.”

Jim sighed. “Yeah, I probably saw it but forgot all about it. I’ll look through my messages and sort it out, promise.”

They fell silent for a while, but just when they stepped out of the lift, Spock said quietly, “I understand how you feel, Jim. It seems illogical to target our crew due to actions carried out in the line of duty. Yet I am also assured of their ability to take care of themselves and that in unity we will come out of this situation unscathed.” Louder he continued, “As of yet, we do not even know what the fugitives’ plans are. Our worries might be obsolete. Now, if you will excuse me, Captain.”

With those words, he was gone, leaving Jim to wonder when exactly Spock had started to talk about his feelings.

At fifteen hundred, he found himself facing not only all head of departments of the Enterprise but also all members of his senior command crew. Looking around the room, he spotted Uhura sitting next to Spock while Sulu was wedged between Chekov and Scotty who were conversing animatedly among each other. He was startled to notice that Bones was still absent. As CMO, he should have been notified about the meeting to receive the orders concerning the security of the medical personnel.

Leaning towards Spock, he murmured, “Try to reach Bones over his personal communicator. If you don’t reach him that way, send for Doctor M’Benga; we need someone from medical here.”

Bones’ silence didn’t sit right with Jim. Even if he was busy, he should have checked his messages; sudden meetings weren’t unusual these days and they had all taken up the habit to check their PADDs and communicators frequently.

When he felt the murmur around him turn down, he fell into Captain mode. There was still time to worry about his friend later, but for now, his crew had to be his priority.

They took the news about the recent potential threat as well as could be expected: with tight nods and worried expressions. Yet there seemed to be an overall resignation, as if they had expected nothing less; as if the fact that Starfleet, and they specifically, were at risk again had become some sort of routine.

It wasn’t fair that they hadn’t even gotten a full month to grieve and recover before misfortune hit them again. Jim’s gaze drifted to Sulu who looked at the table surface in front of him, lips pressed into a thin line.

At least among the bridge crew, Sulu was the only one with a family. Jim couldn’t imagine the worries his husband had to endure when the pilot was out on a mission. Not knowing if he would receive the dreaded message: “Deceased in line of duty.” And now this newest threat might endanger the entire family if the prisoners were particularly vindictive in their actions.

Forcing his mind away from the thought of family, he directed his gaze back towards the entire room.

“I know that you are still reeling from the last tragedy we had to deal with and that we all have not fully come to terms with the loss of so many of our crew. But-. “

At this point, he was interrupted from the soft noise of the office door being opened. Jim looked up, expecting Bones to enter and give him a raised eyebrow as if to question what matter was of such importance to take him from his medical duties. But it was M’Benga, giving an apologetic smile and quietly taking an empty seat at the end of the table.

Jim felt his stomach tighten in knots of worry at the sight of him rather than his best friend, yet he forced himself to continue as calmly as he could. “But nonetheless I am sure that we can overcome this new crisis. As safety measures, I would ask you to inform your departments that they are to keep their communicators with them all the time. Further, I want all personnel to check in with you as head of department every day at nine, fourteen and twenty hundred. All head of departments as well as the senior command crew I would ask to report to me and Mister Spock at ten, sixteen and twenty-one hundred every day; myself and Mister Spock will report to Admiral P- Admiral Janeway.”

Carried away, he had almost forgotten that his commanding officer had needed to be replaced. Jim swallowed, feeling his heart tug painfully in his chest, as if to remind him this was already the second recollection of Pike’s death this day. The wound was still open, aching when prodded.  

“This might seem like an overreaction to some of you, and I very much understand if you think so. However, I don’t want to risk the lives and safety of this crew any more than absolutely necessary and if they have to accept some inconveniences in their daily lives for a couple of days, so be it.” He saw nodding heads around the table and breathed a small sigh of relief at their willing acceptance.

“Expect some of your department members to be taken from their current position to help in the search of the fugitives. Are there any questions?” Upon seeing only head-shakings, he continued, “That would be all. Dismissed.”

As the others got out of their seats and started mumbling among each other, he waved a hand over to the doctor. “Doctor M’Benga, a word please.”

The man nodded and made his way over while Jim tried to calm his strained nerves. It was fine. There would be a perfectly logical explanation for Bones’ absence, maybe even one for which he could tease him.

_Just—please let there be an explanation._

“Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, I apologize for my delay. I had only received the message for this meeting minutes before it started.”

Jim waved it off. “Don’t worry about it, Doctor. Spock can fill you in about the information you missed. What I would like to know is: The message was originally meant for Doctor McCoy. Why was he not responding?”

M’Benga’s brow furrowed in confusion and- worry. Jim felt his stomach drop. “Erm- I apologize again, sir, I’m afraid I cannot answer that. Doctor McCoy hasn’t come to his shift today and- since he had to stay so long last night for his meetings, I assumed he had switched shift with someone to finally have a day off - God knows he deserves it - and I didn’t further look into it… I’m not responsible for the shift plan, so…” He looked at Jim.

“Did he not tell you this morning? I mean, I know you two share a flat, so you must have seen him, sir?”

It was as if a heavy cord was cutting into his ribcage, leaving Jim with no room to draw breath. His heartbeat became faster, and he felt cold sweat break out along his back and neck.

Bones hadn’t been to work today. Bones hadn’t been home for the night. He hadn’t seen him in more than 24 hours. He- where was he??

Again, Jim forced himself to even out his breath. He couldn’t panic, not here and not yet. He was captain, he couldn’t lose it in front of his crew shortly after he had told them about potentially dangerous fugitives. And anyway, there might still be an explanation for Bones’ absence and silence. An absolutely logical one. He just needed to talk with other people, check if the they had seen him, try his communicator again and-

Struck by sudden inspiration, he tried to portray a confident demeanor. “No, I haven’t seen him so far, but maybe he left earlier this morning and didn’t want to wake me. Thank you for being available on such a short notice, Doctor. If you would excuse me, Commander Spock can give you the information you missed.”

With a nod to both, skillfully ignoring Spock’s raised eyebrow, he turned and walked over to where his senior command crew was still standing, quietly talking with each other. They looked at him when he approached them, the atmosphere among them tense. Scotty gave him a friendly pat on the back when he stopped next to him.

“Aye laddie, those are some bad news. Wish those folks would just stay where they belong and leave us alone… But I’m sure Security will find them quick enough, what with everyone looking for ‘em”, he hurried to say upon seeing Chekov’s worried expression.

Jim nodded and forced himself to smile. “Thank you, Scotty, I hope so as well. On another matter though: Has anyone of you seen Doctor McCoy today, or yesterday evening? I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning but didn’t think about it since he had his last meeting, which he told me would probably last well into the night. But Doctor M’Benga has just informed me that he didn’t show up for his shift today. I mean, I’m sure there are a number of reasons for his absence, but did you see him today already by any chance?”

The tension seemed to skyrocket at his words and Jim was reminded once again why his crew was among the brightest at Starfleet- they immediately recognized what the implications of his words could be.

Uhura regretfully shook her head. “I’m sorry Captain; I was at the Linguistics department all morning.”

Sulu also shook his head. “Haven’t seen him either, I’m afraid. Ben and I took Demora to the zoo; she’s bugged us for months that she wanted to see the monkeys,” he chuckled, and Jim couldn’t help himself but smile at the image.

When he turned towards Chekov, the young Russian regretfully shook his head. “нет, Keptin. Mister Zcott and I have been in talkz regarding ze repair of ze city’s power supply all morning. It iz ztill not working zmoothly.”

Jim gnawed on his lip. So, Bones hadn’t been seen by his friends, at least his work-related friends. He could still ask the medical personnel of the Enterprise, maybe he had checked in with his head nurse Christine Chapel. But something told him that his query would be just as useless and there was only one more step he could think of.

“Scotty, would you be able to track his communicator from here?”

His chief engineer only briefly hesitated before nodding. “Aye, I could do ‘at, although it’s certainly not legal without a valid legal justification.”

Jim waved him off. “We won’t need it for anything juridical, I only want to check his whereabouts.” He hesitated, but continued, “It might be nothing, but- in the light of recent events I would really like to make sure he is alright.”

Scotty nodded and went over to the comm station at Spock’s desktop. Jim could hear Uhura step next to him and turned to meet her worried gaze. “You think his absence is related to the prison break, don’t you?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders and desperately tried to keep a cool expression. “I’m not sure. Obviously, I hope it got nothing to do with it and is related to something else entirely, but I need to be certain. If-. “

“Captain, I’ve got him!” Scotty’s shout interrupted Jim and his heart sped up excitedly as he moved to stand next to him. “That was quick - well done, Scotty! Where is he?”

“Well, it seems as if he is on the Academy grounds. The coordinates for his communicator are- well, he seems to be only some hundred meters from our living quarters.”

A wave of relief surged through Jim and he seemed to breathe easier at those words. “So, he’s on his way home?” But why would he go home when he had received a message asking him to come to Spock’s office for important business? Maybe his communicator was broken? Or maybe he had seen it belatedly and was now on his way here?

“Erm, I guess. To be ‘onest, he doesn’t seem to be movin’ though. His location indicates that he’s on one of the paths between Starfleet Medical and your flat, but since I track’d ‘im, he hasn’t moved ‘n inch.”

Confused, Jim furrowed his brow. “Alright. I’ll go see if I find him. Good job, Scotty. Could you keep tracking him and text me in case he moves somewhere else?” “Aye, no problem.”

“I’m coming with you”, said Uhura. Jim simply nodded, not caring to argue with her.

The sun was still shining brightly outside and most of the Academy’s students appeared to enjoy the last days of warmth and sunshine before the rainy days of autumn would inevitably replace them. It was only a ten-minute walk but when they reached the place Scotty had sent them to, there was no sign of the doctor. There were various students walking past, but no Bones. To be honest, Jim didn’t know why anyone would stop here for a prolonged period anyway, especially if you were by yourself. There was nothing to see, only Starfleet accommodations, some green and another path crossing this one. Looking around, he didn’t see a trace of his friend. Glancing at Uhura who seemed just as confused as he was, he pulled out his communicator to ask Scotty whether he was sure this was the right place, when he thought better of it and instead called Bones’ number. Maybe he was in one of the buildings and Scotty’s search just hadn’t been precise enough.

The tune of a catchy pop song from the last century startled Jim and made him turn his head to the right. It was a melody he easily recognized: He had sung that song for karaoke once at one of his favorite bars, back when he was still a cadet. Unfortunately, he had already drunk more than one beer too many that night and while he could be a decent singer at times, this had happened to be one of his less stellar performances. Bones, on the other hand, found the whole scene so hilarious that he had picked the song as personal ring tone for Jim on his communicator.

The song kept playing and while he looked around to see where it was coming from, Uhura stepped to one of the bushes on the side of the path and brushed away a couple of branches.

Jim heard her gasp and pick something up from underneath the bush, then turn around with an alarmed expression on her face. “Jim, you better take a look at this.”

With the feeling of lead forming in his limbs and dread in the pit of his stomach, he stepped next to her and looked at the device in the palm of her hand. His own name and number blinked back at him while the tune cheerily continued to play.

It was Bones’ communicator, with a crack running through the display, apparently from when it had fallen to the ground since Jim couldn’t remember having seen it like this before. And while there was the possibility that Bones had simply lost his communicator on his way home, it appeared like one more coincidence that Jim couldn’t ignore. The bad feeling, which had started when he first hadn’t been able to reach his friend, and which had intensified over the day, sent forth its tendrils through his entire chest and he had to honestly admit to himself that his friend might be in real trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. I’m begging you please, please don’t leave here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is another chapter for you folks! :) 
> 
> There is some medical talk and a hypothetical medical procudure of which I'm totally not convinced if that would work, but hey, not a doctor ;) I tried my best with the help of Google. 
> 
> Don't think there's anything too triggering in this chapter but as always, read at your own caution as this involves some talk about the kidnappers' plans for McCoy. 
> 
> Other than that: Enjoy! :)

_“Do not go gentle into that good night, …_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”_

Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night”

When Leonard regained some of his senses, it was to the cold seeping through his clothes and darkness enclosing him from all sides. He waited some seconds, hoping his eyes would adjust to the blackness around him. There wasn’t a single source of light, and so his surroundings remained pitch black. With a groan he closed his eyes again.

Based on the cold creeping through the layers of his medical uniform, but especially from the hard, even ground underneath him, he figured that he was inside a building, maybe an old warehouse. The floor seemed to be made from simple cement, making it appear even colder than the air. Trying to sit up to at least minimize the contact to the floor, he made another discovery: His legs and hands were tied together and by the feel of it, with real metallic handcuffs which hadn’t been used in law enforcement since the end of the 22nd century. Nonetheless, they proved quite effective as his meagre struggles yielded absolutely no results. Which didn’t mean much considering his limbs felt as heavy as if they were laden with wet sand, making every small movement a strenuous act. His head was the worst though, beating like a drum and steadily becoming worse the longer Leonard was awake. There was a strange taste in his mouth, sweet and---

Leonard’s eyes snapped open.

He was not only tied, but there was a gag in his mouth and how he hadn’t noticed that first was beyond him. At least, the shock at this new discovery managed to clear his thoughts somewhat. His memories returning, he stiffened as he remembered the blackout, the strange man approaching him, a hypo to his neck, someone grabbing him from behind- and then nothing, only darkness. Remembering brought renewed panic and Leonard felt his heartbeat increase, his muscles tensing unbiddenly in response to a belayed fight-or-flight reaction.

He had been kidnapped by some lunatic that apparently knew who he was and, worse, who might have an inkling in his involvement with Khan’s blood. Leonard didn’t want to think about what they planned to do with him to gain access to this knowledge.

A screeching noise and sudden brightness interrupted his train of thoughts, forcing him to close his eyes tightly. Heavy steps advanced and seemed to stop right in front of him. Knowing that his erratic breathing would give away any pretension of sleep, he carefully blinked to give his eyes some time to adjust to the light. Once he managed to keep them open, he chanced a glance up.

The first thing he noticed were the boots in front of his face. Tracing his gaze upwards, his eyes moved over unobtrusive clothing up to the face of a man. It wasn’t the stranger who had stopped Leonard earlier. Possibly one of the men who had incapacitated him. As far as he could tell, the man had blue eyes that regarded him coolly. A scar was running from his left eye down his cheek, coming to an end at his chin. Dirty blond hair hung into his face and muscles stretched the material of the jacket he was wearing.

For a moment, they looked at each other silently. Slowly, a malicious smile spread across the others face and Leonard instinctively tried to recoil. He didn’t come far. Taking a hypo from the pocket of his trousers, the man knelt next to Leonard and grabbed his shoulder firmly to keep him in place.

Panic was racing through the doctor’s blood. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest and despite the grip, he reared up, trying to struggle free. It was of no use and it seemed like a déjà-vu when the cold metal pressed against the tender skin on his neck and another drug entered his system.

The effect was even more immediate than before. Leonard felt his limbs getting heavier and heavier. At the same time, his mind became sluggish. It was difficult to grasp a coherent thought and he barely noticed when the guy left the room, turning off the light and leaving him in complete darkness again.

Time lost its meaning to Leonard. He couldn’t concentrate as his mind kept drifting from one thought or memory to another.

One moment he considered what he might buy Uhura as a birthday present.

The next he was looking down at Jim’s dead body.

A second later, it was his father, begging him to end his pain, only to be replaced with an image of him applauding Leonard at his graduation from the University of Mississippi.

On and on it went, memories of his childhood, his time as a student, a cadet at the Academy, the destruction of Vulcan.

Spock looking at him with an expression that might indicate concern, in a Vulcan.

And Jim.

So many images of Jim, smiling, laughing, fighting, leading the Enterprise like the captain he was always meant to be.

Leonard didn’t know how long he was under the drug’s influence, until finally some awareness of his surroundings returned. He groaned. His entire body hurt from lying on the cold floor, limbs restrained in one position for far longer than healthy for his blood circulation. With more perception, Leonard became aware of his growing hunger and thirst as well. His throat felt dry and raw, and he mentally cursed the gag that kept him from even wetting his lips.

Hearing the screeching noise accompanied by the sudden brightness, he tried to move away without thinking. His body barely twitched, restrained not only by the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, but even more thoroughly by the drugs in his system. His eyes were unable to focus; everything appeared as if through a blurred lens or underwater.

Again, there were heavy footsteps, yet this time, when they stopped, the gag was roughly ripped out of his mouth. Leonard took in a startled breath and promptly started to cough as the fresh air caught in his throat. Blearily, he looked up. Instead of a hypo, the man held a water bottle. Kneeling besides Leonard’s head, he unscrewed it and held it to the doctor’s lips.

“Drink.”

While Leonard objectively knew that he shouldn’t consume anything his captors gave him since it could be spiked with even more substances, his body was in no state to comply with these Academy safety drills. The second the cool liquid touched his lips, he greedily opened his mouth to drink. The water sliding down his parched throat was soothing, reviving his mind so that he could feel his thoughts untangle somewhat.  

“Good little doctor.”

The sneer startled him and before Leonard could react, another hypo was pressed to his neck and its content released into his bloodstream.

The effect was instantaneous this time. Leonard’s mind went under, his thoughts turning into a confused muddle again where nothing took real shape. He didn’t know how long it lasted this time. Just when he got the impression that awareness was slowly returning, there was another press to his neck and the cycle repeated itself.

Time seemed to lose relevance as there were only memories, a stream of memories cut together like a bad movie, with no chronological order. His mind was a jumbled mess and with every dose of drug administered, reality moved further and further away from his conscious grasp. Two more times Leonard had the distinct impression that someone gave him more water to drink, but he wasn’t able to concentrate on that. He knew, in those short moments resembling minimal lucidity, that he should be worried about this while a small voice in the back of his mind, sounding oddly enough like Jim, urged him to fight it. But while his captors apparently deemed it necessary to provide him with just enough water, food didn’t seem to rank high on their scale of necessities for their prisoner. So, with every slow, brief return to consciousness, Leonard became aware of his increasing hunger, robbing him of his last remains of strength.  

When he finally regained a state that could be called “somewhat aware”, Leonard wasn’t sure how often the drug had been administered; he had stopped counting after the fifth time. As he slowly became capable of more coherent thoughts again, he noticed that he was alone. No-one came to inject him with another dose and the lights remained turned off.

Leonard took a deep breath.

First things first, he had to use this break, however short it may be, to check his physical and mental state. His thoughts were still sluggish, tending to drift from one topic, one memory to another, although slightly better than when he had been under the immediate influence of the drugs. Clenching painfully, his stomach was demanding food indignantly, and his throat felt dry from thirst; it must have been some time since he had last gotten something to drink. His wrists and ankles hurt where the metal of the cuffs had rubbed against tender skin. Moving in general seemed like a bad idea: He felt like an ice sculpture, the cold from the ground and his surroundings having had enough time to freeze every cell of his body.

Deep calming breaths.

He needed to take deep breaths to keep the slimy tendrils of fear from ensnaring his mind. Leonard knew that he was in bad shape, that even if he weren’t restrained, he probably wouldn’t get far as his body was simply too weak to move. Normally, he could keep a straight mind during dangerous situations; after all, he was the CMO of the flagship, captained by James Tiberius Kirk, king of foolish, hare-brained, stunningly-idiotic-but-still-somehow-working ideas. Not losing one’s mind in one of those scenarios came with the job description and was additionally a skill finely tuned during his years as a trauma surgeon. But Leonard couldn’t count on this defense. The drugs still in his system kept him from thinking clearly; and it scared him to even contemplate the prospect that he might be completely helpless against what his captors had planned for him.

Another breath. _Don’t you think like that, Leonard. Focus, you need to focus, and when an opportunity comes, you strike._ It was all he could think. Accompanied from the steady mantra of _Jim is coming, he’ll find me, they’re looking for me._

The by now familiar screeching noise of a door opening tore him from his thoughts. Even before the lights turned on, he could tell that something was different. The footsteps approaching sounded heavier and- louder- out of tune. As if more than one person was walking towards him.

Against his will, Leonard opened his eyes. His sight was still blurry - and Leonard couldn’t help himself but send a quick prayer to whoever deity was willing to listen that this wouldn’t be permanent -, but the two pairs of legs standing in front of him were still clearly discernible.

There was a short pause before Leonard felt hands grabbing him underneath his arms and lifting him up. The change in position spiked his nausea and had he eaten anything in the hours – or days, more likely – since they had taken him, he probably would have thrown up. As it was, everything went black for a couple of seconds while his captors dragged him along, his chained feet unable to hold him. When Leonard came back to his senses, the two men next to him had stopped in front of a metallic door, entering a code to gain entry.  

Contrary to the previous door leading to Leonard’s immediate prison, this one hissed open quietly. Since his surroundings still looked blurred, Leonard couldn’t really decipher much. There were some tables, cluttered with various electronic devices. A comm station projecting an image of something into the air.

And a chair.  A chair with restraints.

This one Leonard had no trouble recognizing as his captors dragged him towards it.

Panic slammed into him anew with full force as unbidden images of what they would do to him came to the forefront of Leonard’s mind, and instinctively he tried to struggle free. His protests remained muffled by the gag still in his mouth and while the adrenaline rushing through his veins managed to sharpen his mind somewhat, his strength was still depleted from who-knew how many days without food and too little water.

His heart was racing, his stomach churning, and he yanked on his arms to free them from the grip the two men had on him, but it was to no avail. Dragging him forward, they paid no attention to his struggles and when he refused to corporate in their attempt to place him in the chair, he heard an irritated sigh before a fist connected with his face.

The pain robbed Leonard of his senses for a while, only able to feel the sharp burn on his right side, slowly spreading through the rest of his head and settling in an insistent headache, drilling behind his brow. He couldn’t see what they were doing as his vision had once again returned to black intercepted by bright stars and lightnings. Dimly the doctor felt harsh hands on his arms and upper body, forcing him into the chair, restraining and chaining his limbs none-too-gently.

When he became more aware of his surroundings again, Leonard’s eyes fell on a woman standing beside him, a PADD in her hand. Unable to focus his eyes, her face remained indistinct although he could recognize the color of her hair as dark ginger.

An image of Gaila came to his mind involuntary and Leonard shook his head to clear his head of the memory. Not the time, nor the place to think of a dead friend.

“Doctor McCoy.” Her voice sounded gentle, almost soothing, although Leonard could still detect the undertone of someone trained and used to giving orders. “I would like to apologize for the manner in which this meeting is taking place, but I am afraid the current political circumstances, and your personal stance on our agenda, do not allow for a more amiable setting.”

Oh joy, the talk of a politician if he ever heard one. Apart from the absurdity of his kidnapper actually having the nerves to apologize and justify their abduction, Leonard had never possessed a lot of patience for people beating around the bush. There was a reason why he was usually excluded from diplomatic talks.

He hated that he had to cough a few times to convince his voice to produce sounds again and he winced at the pain that shot through his throat at the action. Damn kidnappers and their limited water rations! “Why, thanks, apology not accepted! I don’t know about ya, but people snatchin’ unsuspecting beings off the street on their way home make me a bit wary on principle, ya see? Same goes for restraints, druggin’ me and lockin’ me up in the dark for god-knows how long! And what about the presumption I won’t understand your cause?! I don’t even know what that would be!”

Ranting helped, had always helped to soothe his nerves, to keep the panic at bay. To stall time in the hope that Jim’s crazy luck had somehow transferred onto him and rescue would storm through the door any minute.

Any minute now.

A snort drew his attention to one of the men standing farther away. He couldn’t really make out their shape, their dark clothes mixing with the bleak color of the walls thanks to Leonard’s compromised sight, but he tried to level a glare in the general direction nonetheless.

“Well, that’s certainly true. Let me enlighten you then: momentarily the majority of Starfleet is on the lookout for four escaped prisoners, agents of Section 31.”

She didn’t need to say more; muddled his brain might be but dumb he was not.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit…. Rescue would be great right about NOW!_

“Allow me to introduce myself: Doctor Tyrell, former head of medical within Section 31. You’ve met Commander Centrich already, he was our head of the weaponry department. Lieutenant Commander Simril was responsible for security and- ensuring cooperation of guests unwilling to see reason. He was the one to administer your- medicine.”

Leonard couldn’t keep from shuddering at her words, though he tried to cover it. Lunatics. He was in the hands of lunatics loyal to the ideas of Section 31 and the likes of Admiral Marcus. It reminded him of Khan. Another lunatic, trying to destroy the Enterprise, their crew, his friends, his…

“…Wildner, who could probably put that engineering genius of the Enterprise - what’s his name? Scott? - anyways, who could put him to shame if Nolan weren’t focused more on warfare.”

Shit, he needed to pay attention. His mind had started to drift, the drugs in his bloodstream only slowly releasing their grip. Weakening his concentration.

“What’s that got to do with me? Seems like you’ve got all areas covered, seein’ as you’re a doctor yourself and therefore certainly as qualified as I to make the diagnosis that your harebrained schemes of whatever won’t work. They will stop you and lock you up again!”

A chuckle interrupted Leonard in his rant. The woman, Doctor Tyrell, seemed to regard him with something akin to amusement. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

“As amusing as your rantings are, I think we will change them in your new setting. It is highly time consuming and not very efficient, as your Vulcan officer would put it.”

As panicked as he had been before, the ice-cold spear of fear that tore through his innards for an instant took his breath away.

“What-what are talking about? What- setting…?”

Doctor Tyrell smiled, Leonard’s blurry sight sharpening just enough to identify the green of her eyes.

“Ah, you’re right, I haven’t identified our cause. We worked with Admiral Marcus, supported his path to wage war against the Klingon Empire. They have proven again and again that they understand but one language and it is time that we respond alike. Since the Admiral can’t lead us anymore, it is our duty to fulfill his mission, for the greater good of the Federation- even if the majority consists of fools unwilling to accept the only possible solution for the sake of illusionary peace!”

Her face had darkened, her voice taking on an edge betraying the passion she felt about the topic.

“I was responsible for any medical advances that might further our cause. My greatest success, however, I discovered quite accidentally.”

She looked aside, ghosting a hand over one of the machines standing to her right.

“A couple of years ago, we had organized a prisoner transport from Atlanta State Prison to one of our locations in the city. As I was stationed there, I took up some experiments in one of my pet issues, neurosurgery. I will not bore you with many details as you won’t remember them anyway once we are done, but in the end, I was able to develop a procedure which allowed me to target and alter specific memories through the smallest of electrical shocks onto the synapses activated when recalling a specific memory. First, I frequently deleted too much, as the test person forgot more than I had intended; but over time, I managed to perfect the procedure. Now, I am able to override personal memories of people, events, but leave basic procedural and semantic memory intact. By the end, my test objects even survived the intrusion.”

Her smile had turned sharp, the green of her eyes boring into Leonard’s.

“So far, we had no long-term results as my latest test subject was killed in the London attack. At this point, his memory had been altered for two weeks with no signs of returning. In the name of scientific research, I would like to extend my gratitude, Doctor McCoy, for agreeing to become another proband to see if my technique is finally perfected and really does delete long-term memories permanently. You should feel honored.”

Leonard felt a lot of things but honored certainly wasn’t one of them. There was panic, clear and sharp, cutting through his foggy minds, making his heart race. Fear, nausea. Anger. Who had given her the right to use those people as her fucking guinea pigs?!

He must have said those last words loud because Doctor Tyrell laughed.

“Who gave me the right? Well, who gave you the right to develop a serum that could raise the dead? Who gave you the right to use your dear captain as ‘guinea pig’, as you call it? Who gave you the right to keep that knowledge to yourself?”

Leonard felt as if all air had been pressed out of his lungs, nothing left to breathe. He had suspected that it was about Khan and the trice-damned serum, but this confirmed his fears.

Doctor Tyrell smiled. “We are not so different, you and I, Doctor. We both used others in the name of science, and both got rewarded with something that could help a lot of people, could support our fight against the Klingons and others posing a threat to the Federation. The only difference, Doctor, is that I am willing to share, to give myself willingly and gladly to this cause. And you, you stick to the old values of morality and a belief in your own righteousness. But as an old German saying goes: He that will not listen must feel.”

He felt like throwing up, the nausea having nothing to do with his hunger or the drugs in his system. They were not the same. Whatever this woman was saying, Leonard knew there was a difference. When Jim had lain on his table, pale, unmoving and dead, he hadn’t spared a thought about medical advances, about research. There had only been an all compassing pain pulsating from his heart, threatening to tear him apart.

It hadn’t been about science or even about the Federation losing a great man.

It had been about Leonard not wanting to lose his best friend, closer to him than his remaining family.

It had been about love.

Leonard took in a sharp breath as the realization of his feelings for Jim hit him. All those years of friendship, of trust and hardships had somehow culminated in the simple fact that he had fallen in love with Jim Kirk.

Leonard’s timing had always been bad.

“I will give you a couple of minutes to think about my proposal while I prepare my instruments; the drugs in your system already fulfilled their purpose to facilitate the erasure of your memories.” Doctor Tyrell’s voice raised him from his thoughts and Leonard looked at her, sight blurry for a different reason than the drugs.

“Tell us how to create the serum that raised Captain Kirk from the dead. We have seen the footage that your clever Mr. Scott tried to disperse: He was already dead when he was brought to your sickbay, and no ordinary resuscitation would have changed that. Radioactive poisoning remains fatal to this day, you know that just as well as I do. So, tell us how you did it and I will only erase the memories of your stay here; Simril and Wildner will drop you at your apartment and you will never see us again.”

She looked at him intently, fingers closed in a tight fist next to her. “Or you can remain stubborn and refuse us. Then I will erase everything that makes you Leonard McCoy. The memories of your crew, your family, friends. Memories from your childhood until today. Everything that is not related to your medical knowledge and your basic functions as an adult human-being will be gone. You will be a nameless doctor, leading in your profession and therefore still able to recreate that serum but with nothing else, nothing to tell you who you are and what shaped you.”

She moved away, turning towards the machine again. “You have five minutes to decide.”

_You only care about medicine, only care about being a doctor. I am HERE, Leonard, I have been here this entire time, waiting for you to realize that there is more than work. But then, I guess I have never been enough for someone whose only love is his job._

Leonard thought it had a bitter irony that he would finally become what Jocelyn had always accused him of.

Jocelyn. They had both hurt each other so badly, destroyed so much during their divorce. He had always been resentful about it, but right now he felt nothing but regret. He would never get the opportunity to make peace with that particular part of his past.

Leonard felt the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes slide down his temples, collecting in his ears, but there was nothing he could do to wipe them away, so he didn’t bother. He felt the fear and panic clawing at him, ensnaring his heart and mind, suffocating him, but he refused to give in to those feelings. He wouldn’t spend his last minutes as Leonard McCoy bemoaning his fate and quivering in fear!

Because there was no alternative. When he had created that serum, he had taken responsibility for it, for its use and propagation.

_I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:_ _Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. Above all, I must not play at God._

He had meant those words when he had sworn them. And whatever else might be done with it, Leonard was sure that Doctor Tyrell or someone else of Section 31 would use the serum as a weapon not only against the Klingons but ultimately against everyone who posed a threat to their ideals. They might have to alter it, but eventually there was no limit on how to use the cure for death to whichever purpose. And Leonard was not only a doctor, but an officer of Starfleet as well; he had a responsibility towards the peoples of the Federation.

He had always known he would eventually encounter the day when he would rue his decision to join that blasted organization.

Taking a deep breath, Leonard tried to focus on his breathing and to get his brain to calm down. He wanted to remember as much of his life as long as he could.

He pictured his mother in their living room, working on some article she wanted to publish in a scientific journal, but interrupting her work to smile at him and ask after his day. There were memories of them hiking together, riding and gardening together. Even the smell of her shampoo came to his mind, piercing his heart in sudden longing for her.

There were memories of his father as he read to him before bedtime. As he brought him to the small rural clinic where he worked so that Leonard could do his school work there and afterwards watch his father practice medicine. The first medical book he had given Leonard for his fourteenth birthday. So many memories of his father before he had gotten sick, of his gentle encouragements and guidance. Of the huge family dinners he had always prepared during the holidays, with Leonard’s help once he was old enough.

His grandparents traveling to San Francisco just to see him graduate, so that he had at least some family present to cheer for him. His aunts and uncles during the holidays, always laughing and arguing loudly to ensure their voices could be heard over the overall ruckus that came with such large get-togethers.

Memories of the Enterprise.

Of Uhura patiently teaching him Andorii when he had gotten the idea that he needed to learn a new language.

Of Scotty looking wide-eyed at him while lying on a bio-bed, assuring him that he had no idea how that blasted pipe had exploded and burned off the first layer of skin on his hands but if he refrained from mentioning that in his report, he would see what he could do about getting him a bottle of Bourbon on their next shore-leave.

Of Sulu discussing alien plants and their healing potentials with him, and Chekov excitedly commenting on the healing potential of everything growing in Russia.

Even of Spock arguing with him, riling him up but clearly enjoying the combat between logic and emotion. Spock looking worried, for a Vulcan, when he worked himself to the ground for the sake of Jim.

Jim.

Leonard felt a renewed, a deeper pain in his heart and he bit his lips to keep a sob from slipping past them.

He wished he had realized his true feelings for his friend sooner; he would have loved to explore them. To see if there was even the possibility that Jim might feel the same for him. If they had a chance to become more than friends.

But it was too late now, and regret wouldn’t get him anywhere at this point, so Leonard concentrated on the good times, on his memories as Jim’s best friend.

On the nights they went out drinking, on the nights they stayed in to study or watch a movie. On the nights they talked about nothing in particular, and the nights they shared the burdens of their past demons. The shared classes, the hardships of working their asses off to be at the top of their respective tracks. Days on the Enterprise discussing missions, ship-talk or just spending time together.

Leonard knew he would miss Jim’s smile the most, the way his eyes lost their hard edge and lit up like bright lapis lazuli.

“Have you come to a decision, Doctor McCoy?”

Doctor Tyrell’s voice ripped him from the refugee of his mind and with a shaking breath, Leonard opened his eyes.

The machine she had looked at before had been moved closer to him so that Leonard could identify at least some electrodes connected to it as well as some form of helmet which seemed to function as a scanner and projector.

Everything in him screamed to just tell her, to give in, because chances were that he might produce the serum anyway if his medical knowledge truly remained untouched. Then it would have all been for nothing.

But Leonard knew that Starfleet would be looking for him and, more importantly, their escaped prisoners and he was certain that they would eventually find them. His trust in Starfleet was at least high enough to assure him of that.

It was Leonard’s responsibility to stall for time so that they could find him before he reproduced the serum. He just wished that it could have been in time to save his past as well.

When he looked up into her green eyes, there was just one answer he could give her.

“Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer, USS Enterprise.”

Doctor Tyrell smiled, her eyes dancing with anticipation.

“I had hoped that you would say that. You know, I love a challenge. How about we erase some of these facts first?”

_“Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love,_

_the things you are,_

_the things you never want to lose.”_

Kevin Arnold from the TV-series “The Wonder Years”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope it turned out well and satisfied your expectations. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, as always! :) 
> 
> Also, the next chapter should go up as planned but chapter 5 might take a bit longer as exams and deadlines are coming up... Will let you know for certain at the end of the next chapter!


	4. I don't want you to hate, for all the hurt that you feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I'm sorry for the late update, I have an exam on Thursday and editing took a bit longer than expected, but here you go! I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Brief note on the last chapter: For those of you who are interested in more detail how Dr. Tyrell's serum works I thought I would provide a short and probably medically inaccurate description (but hey, it's fiction and the future ^^) how I imagined the whole process. If you're not interested, just go right ahead to the chapter and enjoy! :)  
> Basically, the drug would affect the Hippocampus and, to some extent, the Amygdala, weakening the synapses between the neurons by a way of overreaction by evoking countless memories (which is why Bones' mind jumped from one memory to another). Doctor Tyrell severed only the connections which held the personal memories, which she did by asking Bones personal questions which would provide a neural reaction in the area where the memory was "located" (I know it's a bit more complex in real life) and she then severed the relevant synapses with small electric shocks; that's what the machine with all the electrodes and the helmet was for. Keep in mind that she has done this a couple of times already so she had ample practice to develop a certain set of questions best suited to erase memories....  
> Hope the explanation works for you! Thanks a lot to CocoRose for making me aware that I may have been a bit vague in my explanation! :)

_“Like that wound of mine_

_Of which none knew,_

_For I’d given no sign_

_That it pierced me through.”_

Thomas Hardy, “The Wound”

Unsurprisingly, Jim had never wanted to know what it would feel like if someone cut out a vital part of his body. His liver, perhaps, or his kidneys. Maybe his entire stomach. It certainly felt like it for the hollow feeling that radiated from it.

Maybe it was a late after-effect of the radiation poisoning and with its creator gone, the cure had stopped working so that death may claim their rightful victim. Jim wouldn’t put it past whoever held the threads of his life at the moment. Seemed like they enjoyed seeing him suffer.

Bones (no, Dr. McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise – he had to carefully distinguish the two to not go crazy with worry) had gone missing more than twenty-four hours ago. Well, technically it had only been sixteen-and-a-half-hours when they had discovered it but by the time Jim had finished giving his reports to the Admiralty and Starfleet Security, the one-day mark had passed. Wasn’t there a statistic claiming that the chances of finding clues were drastically decreased after twenty-four hours? Or was it forty-eight? Why had it taken them so long to realize that Bones had gone missing?

_Not them. You. You failed him. He brought you back to life and you failed to protect him._

Jim felt like throwing up. Or like punching someone, repeatedly. He wasn’t picky what it turned out to be, although the latter choice would surely be less disgusting.

Maybe he should go to the gym, find a punching bag and attack it until it was ripped to pieces. Or until Jim’s arms fell off. Again, he wasn’t picky.

Stepping into the cool night air outside Headquarters, Jim forced himself to take a deep breath to get his jumbled thoughts into order.

To say Cartwright had been worried about this new development was an understatement. More than once Jim had seen that neutral mask of the politician and leader slip to show a glimpse of the frustration the man felt underneath.

Jim could sympathize.

As a captain, he was concerned for his crew member, someone he was responsible for, who was under his care, yet he could take some comfort in knowing that his CMO was trained, had been prepared for this scenario during his training – in theory at least. He also knew that Starfleet would leave no stone untouched to not only find their fugitives but also one of the best medics they had in active duty. So, as a professional, Captain Kirk was agitated but not unduly so.

As a friend – well, that was an entirely different matter. It seemed as if his mind had nothing better to do than conjure new images of what these people could do to his friend while Jim was stuck in a meeting that seemed to be going on for eternity. Every second he came up with another reason why Bones’ Starfleet training might prove to be futile. As a friend, he could barely keep the fear from showing on his face.

He must have drifted off in thought one to many times because the next thing Jim knew he had been banned from the investigation, proclaimed “emotionally compromised” by the commander in chief. That he was named as Bones’ emergency contact and had nearly lost it in his rage of being excluded hadn’t really improved his situation.

Pressing the balls of his hands into his eye-sockets until he saw blinking shooting stars, Jim willed his racing heart to slow down.

“Captain.”

Letting his arms fall next to his side, Jim blinked to focus his sight on Spock, face as impassive as ever. Somehow, he felt even more enraged by it.

“Geez, Spock, show me how much you care, don’t you? The news of Bones’ disappearance seems to have hit you real hard.”

The moment those words left his lips, Jim felt like an asshole. There was a small twitch around Spock’s right eye, briefly disturbing the image of serenity he was otherwise presenting. Anyone else would have missed it, yet they had been through too much together. Jim knew that those words had hurt his first officer, even if he wouldn’t allow himself to really feel it, let alone show it.

“I’m sorry, Spock, that was uncalled for. I know you are worried about him.”

Spock inclined his head in agreement. “Indeed. The doctor and I may disagree on a variety of topics, yet I have come to value his emotional input and our debates; it proves to be very stimulating, not to mention satisfying to advert to some of the logical lapses in the doctor’s reasoning.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, I guessed so. So, what did I miss? Did you manage to convince Cartwright to let me come back on board?”

“I am afraid I was unable to argue with the Fleet Admiral’s logic. You are emotionally too involved to objectively and rationally investigate this case; your previous actions only seem to verify his opinion on that matter.”

Hot rage shot through his veins, buzzing in his ears. “I’m the fucking Captain of the Enterprise, what does he think I’ve been doing the past year??!! Thinking rationally when my crew is in danger might not be my strong suit, I admit that, but if he had bothered to actually read one of my damn reports…”

“Captain, you misunderstand. It is not your judgement as captain in general that is questioned; despite some rashness, you have proven yourself on countless occasions, as I pointed out to the chief in command.”

Spock’s words of support threw some cooling water on Jim’s raging ire and he managed a smile in the Vulcan’s direction. “Thank you, Spock.”

Spock nodded. “Admiral Cartwright agrees with me, yet Doctor McCoy is not any crew member, is he? Like Admiral Pike was not any Admiral. I could not refute this argument as it is the truth.”

A physical punch in the gut would have hurt less. Obviously, Spock couldn’t argue that; Jim himself couldn’t argue with that logic because hadn’t they recently seen how far he would go in his desire for justice and revenge? The result was still recognizable to anyone bothering to look at the debris of former San Francisco buildings.

Of course he was too emotionally compromised; the scenarios of what was happening to Bones kept running through his head like a bad slides show, leaving him unable to even carry on a calm conversation with his first officer.

A punching bag really would come in handy right about now.

“You’re right. Fuck, you’re right, Spock. I can’t participate because I don’t know what’s happening to him and that’s driving me crazy. But you know what’s even worse? Doing nothing. You can’t expect me to sit at the sideline, wondering what’s going on and if you’ve got any clues, you just can’t! You know me well enough by now, so what’s your idea? I’m open to all suggestions to get me back in the loop.”

If he didn’t know better, Jim would say the Vulcan almost looked- satisfied.

“I indeed anticipated that reaction and have thought of a solution that you will hopefully deem acceptable. After you had left the meeting, Mister Scott, Mister Chekov and I volunteered our services in the search for Doctor McCoy; Mister Sulu and Miss Uhura have done so as well, yet so far there is no need for their skills. Mister Scott and Mister Chekov are now working on restoring some video footage of the surveillance camera where the doctor was taken; the main power may have been disrupted, but the security system has been programmed to switch to an independent auxiliary power in case of a blackout. The night images are not in an optimal condition, which is why Mister Scott and Mister Chekov are currently trying to improve them,” Spock said, looking almost pained at the thought of something not functioning as it should be.

“Admiral Cartwright mentioned nothing about information not being brought to the attention of someone who has been part of the investigation until recently and has the necessary security clearance. Therefore, until there are different orders, I see no problem in informing you about any developments, provided you do not carry out any actions that could be categorized as ‘foolhardy’.”

For a brief moment, Jim wondered if it was the human side in Spock or if all Vulcans were secretly sneaky as hell when they wanted to be. Based on his interactions with the older Spock, he strongly assumed the latter.

Not that he cared; he was just tremendously grateful that Spock had found a way to include him without breaking the rules- technically.

Although he wasn’t so sure whether Cartwright would agree on that.  

“Geez, Spock, that sounds like something I would say. Nice to see that I seem to have finally rubbed off on you.”

Jim would forever wonder how Vulcans managed to look exasperated without moving a single muscle on their faces.

“I assure you, Captain, nothing of that sort has happened. However, based on previous experiences I have come to the conclusion that it would be better for everyone involved if you are at least informed about the proceedings. Otherwise it would probably become necessary to organize another search in case you get abducted as well in your desire to find the doctor; in fact, I have calculated a worryingly high probability of 76,68 percent for this scenario.”

Now that was just insulting. He was a grown up, not a toddler, thank you very much.

“Your faith in my capabilities is astounding and very reassuring, Mister Spock”, Jim answered dryly.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow yet refrained from commenting the issue further.

“If I may, I have another suggestion to make, this one in the name of Lieutenant Uhura. She suggested that you may move in with us for the duration of this investigation.”

Jim crossed his arms.

“I don’t need you as babysitters. Despite what all of you seem to think, I can fucking take care of myself.”

There was a strange softness in Spock’s eyes, the neutral mask being lowered just enough to reveal a brief glimpse at the emotions his first officer tried so hard to repress.

“This is not meant as an insult towards you, Jim. You are under no obligation to prove anything. However, logically it would be of more convenience if you were to live with Lieutenant Uhura and I. In this manner, it would be far easier and more efficient to relay relevant information concerning the doctor’s abduction. Further, Lieutenant Uhura has made me aware of the emotional impact your empty apartment may have on you. She fears that you may feel Leonard’s absence more keenly when you spend the time alone in the place you usually share with him. Based on my experience with humans, and you in particular, I concur with her reasoning.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t even thought about that.

The idea of entering their flat, looking at the door to Bones’ bedroom and being reminded that he had excused the doctor’s absence with work just this morning…

_What if I had suspected something sooner? Would there be more clues already? Would it have changed anything?_

The pain and worry about his friend flared again, throbbing painfully in Jim’s chest and abdomen, clawing at his innards like an ugly, hurting creature, demanding his attention.

Jim swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

He could insist that he didn’t need their worry, could claim again and again that he was fine.

But the truth was- he wasn’t. Jim wasn’t fine at all and the thought that he had to be confronted with his failure as a friend on a daily basis by staying at their apartment was more than he thought he could bear at the moment.

“Thank you, Spock. I- I would- appreciate if I could stay with the two of you until- you know… until we find Bones.”

Spock simply nodded.

“Would you like to collect some clothing and personal belongings for your stay with us?”

The prospect of entering his apartment really shouldn’t be terrifying, yet Jim still felt as if the simple question was choking him.

Forcing himself to release some of the tension in his body, he answered, “Yes, that- that would be great, thank you, Spock.”

There was a brief silence before Spock made a vague hand gesture, “Very well. After you, Captain.”

The next day Scotty and Chekov had edited the surveillance material just enough to confirm what everyone had already suspected: Doctor McCoy had been taken by three of the four fugitives and been taken to an unknown location. While the camera showed the moment the kidnapping took place, there were no further clues of their whereabouts; once the men had left the camera range, they had only been spotted on one more camera on campus, close to one of the lecture buildings on the southside, which didn’t really tell them much: It was the fastest way into the city where there weren’t as many security cameras and therefore easier to remain off the grid.

In short, it was an impasse.

Jim hit the gym after all once Spock had told him the news, laying into the punching bag as if it would reveal all answers if only he beat it hard enough.

He hadn’t seen the footage, but his imagination was vivid enough to fill the blanks, driving his fists even harder into the bag’s material.

His body ached all over when he awoke the next day, but at least he had slept without a nightmare.

It took the admiralty another day to decide whether to release images of the escaped agents to the public or not. Those against it argued that information about dangerous prisoners seeking for revenge would create panic, so shortly after the Khan debacle. Those in favor countered that they may lose valuable time in the search without any new leads that some citizens may provide.

In Jim’s opinion, the entire discussion was a waste of time.

In the end, the admirals agreed to release pictures of all four prisoners yet withhold any details about their involvement with Admiral Marcus. According to the press release sent out the next morning, Commander Centrich, Lieutenant Commander Simril, Lieutenant Commander Wildner and Doctor Tyrell had stolen secret equipment belonging to Starfleet and any information concerning their whereabout would be monetary rewarded. Important enough to evoke some attention, not worrying enough to create real alarmism.

That had been five days ago and so far, there had been nothing.

Jim was picking in his food, hungry, but not really interested in eating. Objectively, he knew that he could at least pretend to have some appetite as Uhura had insisted on cooking herself after a day at work rather than letting Jim do it. It was one of Jim’s favorites, well intended to cheer him up.

Yet Jim could only concentrate on the number.

Five. Five days, almost a week and they had nothing.

On a rational level, he knew that this was to be expected. This was no amateur act, these kidnappers were professionals and had clearly planned this, so of course they had covered their tracks. This was tiresome, but overall, he was confident that Starfleet would eventually find something.

Were it any other crewmember, he could handle the situation. He would be worried for their wellbeing, of course, but he would be able to participate in the investigation and distance himself.

Jim failed on all these accounts, just because it was about Bones.

And he didn’t understand it. Bones was his best friend, sure, but this still didn’t explain the emotional roller coaster he was experiencing. Even when he managed to think about something else, there was this tight knot of worry, sitting in his stomach, pushing constantly against his mind, slowly pressing in on him until his thoughts returned to his friend, which led to an avalanche of possible scenarios running through his head.

To be fair, there also wasn’t a lot of distraction to be found in other work. Cartwright still refused to include him in the official inquiry but had also put him on light duty out of well-intended, yet misguided concern, meaning that Jim barely got his mornings filled with things he had to organize before their next mission. With nothing to do, of course his mind circled around one topic.

But nonetheless… nonetheless he couldn’t help but feel that his emotional response might be too strong, that Bones’ disappearance shouldn’t be feeling as if someone had taken a vital part of him and run with it, a part Jim hadn’t even been aware existed until this moment, located somewhere in either his mind or heart.

“Jim!”

Looking up, he could read from Uhura’s expression that it hadn’t been the first time she had called his name.

Sighing, he put down his fork.

“I’m sorry, Nyota. It’s delicious, really, but I’m not all that hungry.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not what I was going to say. I had already guessed that there will be plenty of leftovers for the next two days.”

Reaching over the table, she placed her hand over Jim’s. Her touch was cool, soothing against the unchanging turmoil in his head.

“Jim, you worry me. Spock too, although he would never admit it. I understand that you’re anxious about Leonard, we all are. But I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to it. I’ve seen you when you’re concerned for a friend and that- that’s just not like you. The last time you were this restless was after… well, after Khan attacked the meeting.”

Withdrawing his hand, Jim grimaced. “Fuck, I don’t know. I try to distract myself, but I’m basically grounded, and I can’t stop my mind from procuring new possibilities what’s happening to him while I’m busy doing nothing! Whenever something happened during the mission I was the one making the decisions, I could do something to get the situation back under control, but here? I’m not even supposed to know all the things Spock secretly told me about!”

There was a strange look in her eyes, but it was gone before Jim could identify it.

“Hm, I see what you mean. Well, I can’t get you back in the loop, but if you don’t mind tedious work: My assistant is on a holiday for a couple of days to visit his family and I could use some help in cataloging the data from the last mission. I know you have the experience back from the academy, so if you want to refresh your memory…?”

It took his breath away, time and time again. To be confronted with the evidence that someone actually cared about him.

Schooling his features, he replied, “Well, as long as I’m not distracting the other staff members. I’m a famous captain, after all. Saved the world one or two times. Handsome too, or so I’ve been told…. Wouldn’t want to stop them from working.”

Uhura snorted. “On second thought, I can manage alone. Doesn’t matter if it takes me ages, I’m still faster without you.”

“You wound me!”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“You want to defraud your coworkers of the experience to meet the famous Captain James T. Kirk?”

“Infamous is more like it. They’ll be grateful!”

The sound of the entrance door sliding open stopped Jim from replying.

Looking over and expecting to see Spock, Jim felt a jolt of surprise rush through him at the sight of Scotty.

“Mr. Scott! What are you… How did you enter? Please tell me you didn’t hack the security code! We would have let you in had you knocked, you know?”

Bobbing on the spot, the Scotsman glanced apologetically at Uhura. “Ah, right….’m sorry, Lieutenant, didn’ mean te interrupt! Commander Spock gave me the code seein’ as none of you two saw it necessary to check ya communicator!”

Reflexively, Jim glanced at his hip where sure enough, his communicator was not hanging. Must have forgotten it in the guest room when Uhura called for dinner.

Uhura shook her head. “It’s fine, Scotty. What was so important that Spock sent you here rather then telling us after his shift?”

“We’ve got something!”

Jim’s heart stopped for a beat, taking all thoughts with it, leaving his mind empty except for one sentence.

_They found something._

“You- what? What did you… When? What did you find?”

“The pictures we released to the public? Someone jus’ gave us a call. Said they saw somethin’ and asked where te collect the reward. They’re on their way to Headquarters now an’ Spock told me te – Oi Jim, where ‘re ye goin’?! Ya don’t even know which room they’re in!”

Blinking, Jim stopped briefly at the door to look over his shoulder.

“You were taking too long, fill me in on our way there!”

Grumbling, Scotty took the lead, Jim and Uhura flanking him left and right. Ignoring the worried glances Uhura threw his way – she and Spock really had a bad influence on each other in this regard - he asked, “When did you get the call?”

“About an hour ago. They…”

“An hour?! And you’re just telling me now?!”

Raising an incredulous eyebrow while still performing a speed walk that was just one level beneath running truly was an impressive feat.

“Well, we tried te call ya, if ya remember, so not really our fault! Also, there was no hurry, they said that it would take ‘em at least forty-five minutes to get here, seein’ as they refused to be beamed. Technophobe or somethin’, beyond me in this day and age if ya ask me, beamin’ surely is safer than the public transport of…”

“Scotty!”

“Right, sorry Captain. Anyways, gave us time to discuss who’s gonna lead the questioning. Security claims it’s their right, considering the whole investigation falls under their field of duties. Commander Spock was still tryin’ ta convince ‘em that it’s his prerogative, seein’ as Doctor McCoy is part of the Enterprise Crew and all. The discussion was still goin’ on when I left.”

Jim nodded. “Anything else about the informant? Did they already say anything?”

“Only tha’ they had information abou’ one of the wanted persons, bu’ they refused te say anythin’ durin’ the call, wanted te see the money first; not the most trustful trait if ya ask me, but beggars can’ be choosers, I suppose!”

Usually it took fifteen minutes to reach Headquarters from their apartment building; today they managed it in seven.

Upon entering the great entrance hall, Jim first noticed the increased number of security personnel. Of course, their presence had been upped after the information about the breakout had been released to all Fleet staff, but today there appeared to be even more.

“This way, Captain.”

Turning right, Scotty waved them over to one of the turbo lifts. Entering, Scotty pressed a button and the doors closed behind them.

“They’re gonna interview them on the fifth floor. The interrogation room there has a two-way mirror, so we should be able to watch.”

Jim frowned. “Did you clear that with Cartwright? I’m really not keen on being reprimanded over that.”

Uhura chimed in, shaking her head. “You are not here as a Starfleet Captain, you are here as the emergency contact of a missing person. Starfleet regulation permits Fleet personnel excluded from an investigation due to emotional involvement to observe neutral interrogations, such as the interview of a witness, provided they don’t intervene in any way.”

Right. Theoretically, Jim knew that, but it was difficult to think about any regulations when his mind was clearly preoccupied with something else.

The soft hiss of the doors opening drew Jim’s attention to the floor in front of them. The white-silvery colors favored by most Fleet buildings reflected the light, disguising the fact that it was already getting dark outside. Apart from two security officers standing in front of one of the doors, the floor was deserted.

Falling in line behind Scotty, they walked past the two officers, who looked disapprovingly at Jim yet refrained from saying anything. Apparently, word had spread that Captain Kirk was not to be involved in this search.

Willing the anticipation building in his stomach to calm down, he entered the viewing area after Scotty.

Evidently – and unsurprisingly in Jim’s opinion - Spock had prevailed in the debate with the head of security, sitting across an unhappy looking Ferengi while Admiral Henry sat somewhat sullenly next to the Vulcan. Seemed as if Spock had convinced him of the logic of sharing this interview.

Jim sighed. Of all the Federation members, it was the least surprising that a Ferengi witness would ask about the financial reward first, seeing as they valued monetary profit over anything else. He just hoped that this one wouldn’t go so far as to invent some information just to earn some money, possibly setting them on a wrong track.  

“Mister Farek, as we have already assured you, you will receive the financial reward promised for relevant information of the fugitives. For that purpose, however, we first need to hear what you have to offer”, Spock was saying calmly.

The Ferengi, Farek, inclined his head, looking directly at the first officer. “Well, I’m taking the famous saying at face value: Vulcans do not lie. I certainly hope that is true, Commander Spock.”

Ere an indignant Admiral Henry could reply something to that insinuation, Farek continued, “I think I saw one of them in my shop. In fact, I’m certain it was that- what’s his name? The one with the scar? Helps to remember him by.”

Admiral Henry typed some command into his PADD, then turned it so that Farek could look at it. “Lieutenant Commander Porter Simril. Was he the one you saw in your store?”

Farek leaned forward and slightly over the table to scrutinize the image. “Yeah, that’s him. Came to my shop two days ago and bought some food. Seemed a bit frustrated at the sum at the check-out, but quality has its price, you know.”

Grinning, Farek leaned back again, apparently pleased at the memory of a deal well done- at least on his part.

Before Admiral Henry could continue, Spock interrupted. “Is there a reason why you waited two days to relay this information to the concerned authorities? The respective details on the fugitives have been released to the public five days ago.”

Farek shrugged. “Don’t really watch the news regularly. Just heard about these prisoners by chance today; I normally have a bad memory for human faces, they all look the same to me, but him I remembered clearly, even two days later. Scar like his really tends to stick out of the masses.”

Spock raised an eyebrow yet refrained from commenting the statement any further. “Do you recall anything else about what Mister Simril purchased in your shop that day?”

The Ferengi frowned, head slightly tilted right. “Puh, ya’re asking me questions! Don’t know, nothing extraordinary, as I said. Food, bottled water. Toiletries, like shampoo, shower gels, toothbrushes. Razors.”

Admiral Henry suddenly sat up straight. “Do you still know how many he bought?”

Looking strangely at the man, Farek shook his head. “Honestly, don’t really pay that much attention to what people are buying, it’s weird. But if you’re so interested, maybe you could count them on the surveillance footage?”

The tension on both sides of the interrogation room seemed to skyrocket at that.  

Admiral Henry leaned forward, lips pressed into a thin line and a vein pulsing at his temple. “Do you mean to tell me that you have a digital shot of Simril and only mention this now?!”

Jim had to congratulate the Admiral on his restraint; if it were him in that room, he would have been strongly tempted to strangle the Ferengi when he grinned cheekily. “You didn’t ask.”

Enraged, the Admiral looked towards Spock who was contemplating the shop owner coolly. “I understand. And I presume you would want another financial reward for the release of the surveillance material. However, you are not acting logically. As you and your people are part of the Federation, Federation law applies to you as it does to every citizen. As such you are required to not withhold any material pertaining to an ongoing investigation; counteracting in this regard is considered as perverting the cause of justice and will be punished as such. Now I am aware that you consider monetary gain very highly, but I have always been of the impression that most people value their freedom even higher. Or would you beg to differ?”

Farek had gone pale during Spock’s explanation, rapidly shaking his head when the Vulcan looked at him questioningly and said, “I see. Am I right when I presume that this was all a terrible misunderstanding and you will henceforth corporate willingly and release the material without any further demands?”

Sulkily, Farek crossed his arms in front of his chest, but nodded. Spock briefly glanced at Admiral Henry, who inclined his head in agreement, before he continued.

“Very well. Then let us proceed by you telling us where you store your monitoring equipment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked the chapter! 
> 
> Also, thanks a lot for your comments, the kudos and simply reading this story, it really means a lot to me! 
> 
> The next update might take four rather than three weeks, May is a bit more stressful concerning exams and deadlines. I will try to upload as early as possible though! Can't have you waiting too long for what's happening to Bones, can I? ;)


	5. The world is just illusion, trying to change you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot the "Star Trek Beyond" quote I hid in there? ;) 
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy! <3

_“I stand amid the roar_

_Of a surf-tormented shore,_

_And I hold within my hand_

_Grains of the golden sand--[…]_

_O God! can I not save_

_One from the pitiless wave?_

_Is all that we see or seem_

_But a dream within a dream?”_

Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream Within a Dream”

 

There was a sharp ache in his head when he woke up. Rhythmically, like someone attacking his forehead with a pickaxe from the inside in an attempt to break their way through, pulsating through his entire skull. Slowly so as to not further aggravate his headache, he blinked his eyes open, thereby sharpening the pain in his mind to a piercing arrow aiming for the area right behind his eyes. Groaning, he rolled to the side, trying to raise his arms protectively around his hurting head.

That lead to a new discovery. His limbs felt weak, like rubber, requiring more effort than it should to move them. Exhausted, he let his arms drop beside him.

He frowned.

Beyond the pain, there was a strange – nothingness. Numbness. It was a peculiar combination, for his head to hurt, yet at the same time be – light, for the lack of a better word.

Swallowing to get rid of some of the sour taste in his mouth, he tried to take stock of the rest of his body. Overall, he didn’t seem to be injured. His head ached the most, but the rest of him just felt incredibly weak, like- he couldn’t really compare it to an experience. At least the surface under him was soft and smooth, providing some relief. After what seemed like ages but was in all likelihood only a minute, his eyes had finally adapted to the light. Gingerly, he set up, his arms shaking slightly under the strain.

The first glance revealed a nightstand, holding a cup with, what he hoped, was some water. Beyond that, there wasn’t much. A plain wardrobe, narrow and somewhat filthy. Tiles in a shady grey covering the floor, the walls in a dirty white. No windows. Fluorescent light illuminating the entire room. A door, modern as far as he could tell.

Opening his eyes had led to another discovery: His eyes didn’t seem to work properly as his sight switched between sharp and blurred. Squinting yielded no results, it didn’t get any better. Looking around, he searched for any glasses. That must be the reason why he had such trouble seeing after all.

He needed his glasses.

He paused.

Did he need glasses?

His heart jumped, creating a strange feeling of shocked excitement in his chest as he scrunched his face in an attempt to remember.

_Did he need glasses?_

It wasn’t a difficult question, he should be able to answer that. His headache spiked as he tried to recall whether he usually needed any seeing aid.

There was nothing.

Fear sat in, running through his bloodstream in cold rivers, restricting his breath as he tried to think of something else.

His name.

His date of birth. His favorite food.

His family, friends.

He knew there should be something. He knew that people normally knew those things about themselves.

But there was only a blank canvas where a colorful mosaic ought to be. Only a curious observation that his heart rate was too high for a male of his approximate age and that his blood pressure was probably elevated as well.

He should try to calm himself, a logical voice in his head insisted. It wasn’t good for his health to work himself up. But that was only a small side. The larger part of him quickly descended into a sea of panic as he tried to find anything in his memories, but only emerged empty.

The door sliding open yanked him from his agitation. Looking up, he saw a red-haired woman, carrying a tray with food in her hands and a PADD clamped underneath her armpit. Seeing the meal, his stomach growled loudly, turning his attention briefly to the fact that he apparently hadn’t eaten anything in who knew how long, and he felt like starving.

Upon seeing him sitting, she smiled and stepped closer, setting the tray on the bedside table next to him.

“Doctor George! It’s good to see you awake, sir. Let me tell you, you had us worried for a while. You hit your head pretty hard after all, and we were worried that the scanner may have missed some damage. How are you feeling, sir?”

He frowned. _Doctor George._ It didn’t ring a bell at all.

“I… I am sorry, but who are you? And- um, where am I?”

The smile dropped from her face, being replaced with a tight frown.

“Do you not remember, sir?” Seeing him shake his head, she continued, “I am Doctor Katherina Tyrell, head of the medical department of Section 31.”

He must not have reacted the way she had expected because the frown on her forehead only deepened.

“We are- we are Starfleet, sir. As are you. You are Doctor Steven George, rank of Lieutenant Commander within Starfleet. We are currently in a secret lab owned by Section 31 as there has been an attack on Earth. Although the entire Federation is more than likely to follow”, she added grimly.

_Doctor Steven George, Lieutenant Commander._ He turned it over in his head. It didn’t sound familiar but then, nothing the woman had just said did.

“I- I’m sorry – Doctor Tyrell, wasn’t it? I’m afraid I still don’t understand what I’m doing here. The last thing I remember-“, his breath caught in his throat at the realization, “I- I don’t really remember anything at all. What am I supposed to be doing here?”

For a brief moment, her lips were twitching, almost as if she wanted to smile. But that wouldn’t make any sense.

Instead, Doctor Tyrell brought her hand up to massage the bridge of her nose. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled forcefully before looking at him again. The area around her eyes relaxed somewhat as she regarded him.

“I was afraid that something like this could have happened, but I had hoped the damage wouldn’t be this drastic. You have been in a shuttle accident on your way here and suffered a severe head injury. Unfortunately, you required brain surgery, but the scans indicated that there should be no lasting complications; although given the extent of your injury it is not surprising that you are showing signs of amnesia”, she finished dryly.

“We will see how extensive it is after an examination. Please lie back on the bio-bed”, she gestured toward the bed on which he was still sitting.

The probe seemed to be going on for ages. According to Doctor Tyrell, the newer scans confirmed that there was nothing physically wrong with his brain; all damage had been sufficiently repaired during the surgery. Yet her questioning afterwards to test the extent of his amnesia left him unsettled: He couldn’t recall a single fact about himself, not even briefly before the accident. There was a huge amount of nothing where his memories should be.

On the bright side, his medical and factual knowledge seemed to be mostly intact. He had been able to answer all of Doctor Tyrell’s medical questions and most of her inquiries concerned with everyday life or general education.

It was something, at least; something to hold on to in this feeling of being lost, a small reference to what kind of person he had been. It was better than having nothing at all.

The questioning left him mentally exhausted and he wished to just go back to sleep after it was finally over. His headache had flared up again sharply; not surprising considering his state, but tiresome nonetheless.

Doctor Tyrell seemed to be partially satisfied, partially apologetic when she finished.

“That’s it then. Amnesia of this kind can be tricky as I won’t have to tell you. Your memories may come back, or they may not. They might come back all at once or by degrees.”

She sighed.

“I wish we could give you some time, but unfortunately, time’s the one thing we don’t have. Your medical expertise is what we requested from you and as that appears to be largely intact, Starfleet would really appreciate if you were able to help, to the best of your abilities of course. Lives- lives are at stake. Do you feel you are able to at least listen to what for we need your expertise?”

He considered her request only briefly. As it was, he didn’t know anything apart from the fact that he was a doctor and a Lieutenant Commander. These were the only defining traits he could go by and he couldn’t go against them; without them, he would truly be no one. And who knew, working might jostle the rest of his memories.

He had to try at least.

Steve George nodded.   

“Very well. Let’s start from the beginning, or at least what is relevant for now. Earth has been under constant attack from the Klingon Empire for the last four weeks; it seems as if they finally decided to ignore all resolutions between them and the Federation. Earth is just the first victim of many, although I suppose we should consider ourselves grateful that they didn’t start with New Vulcan. Not like we can afford to lose more Vulcans.”

It sounded strange the way she said it, but he let it slide. He didn’t really know her after all. And why New Vulcan? As far as he knew, there was only one Vulcan.

Steve sighed internally. Probably one general fact that hadn’t survived his memory loss.

“Originally, they started with torpedoes, yet last week they- they excelled themselves: They- I don’t know how they procured it, we had no intel that they were even working on something like that, but they are in the possession of metreon cascades. There have been four attacks so far with- devastating results.”

There were medical facts running through his head at the name. A radioactive weapon similar to the crude atomic bombs of the 20th century, vaporizing those in close proximity and leading to radioactive poisoning in those fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to survive the immediate explosion, killing them in a far crueler manner. Death usually occurred three to seven days after the contamination, characterized by nausea, vomiting, high fever and electrolyte disturbance, among other symptoms.

“The attacks occurred in metropoles all over the globe. The first was dropped in London, followed by Tokyo, Dar es Salaam and São Paulo. The overall death toll, including the victims of the previous torpedo attacks, has not been determined yet, although it will probably be over 50 million… Not counting those who will die in the days to follow from radiation sickness.”

Doctor Tyrell’s voice sounded strained, her eyes averted, and fingers balled into fists. Steve understood. The thought of so many people having died - It left him with a feeling of mute horror and shock, unable to grasp the enormity of it; what it meant for so many people to be gone in the blink of an eye, so many lives lost. Numbness and a feeling of loss with nothing to really tie it to. No reference.

50 Million. How could you comprehend such a loss?

Taking a deep breath, Doctor Tyrell seemed to try to collect herself.

“The declaration of war by the Klingons and the subsequent attacks were- surprising, to say the least. So far, we haven’t been able to determine how they move through Federation space without being detected. It appears that they have developed a new cloaking device, hiding them from every sensor out there meant to prevent exactly such a thing, but that’s only an educated guess. Since the destruction of London things have been – chaotic. To put it mildly.”

Picking up the PADD she had placed on the table next to the forgotten tray of food, Doctor Tyrell started to enter some commands.

“We don’t know how many more of these metreon cascades they have developed and frankly, we can’t afford to find out the hard way. As of yet, there has been no cure for radiation poisoning at this high a level, leaving all those who escaped the initial explosion with a death sentence nonetheless. Unfortunately, among those who already died from radiation sickness was someone who might have been able to end this war before it further escalates.”

Handing him the PADD, Steve saw the picture of an elderly man with thin, brown hair and blue eyes, high cheekbones and a distinctive nose giving him the impression of a vulture.

There was sudden rage, hot and bright, shooting through him as he gazed at the photograph, leaving him empty and wary when it disappeared only a moment later.

Looking up, Steve met the green eyes of Doctor Tyrell, resting on him and regarding him almost- curiously.

“Admiral Sucram was supposed to lead the counter initiative against the Klingons and was at a meeting in a town close to London when the first cascade dropped. He- wasn’t killed immediately but he succumbed to the effects of extremely high radiation only days later. Which was one of the reasons why you finally relented.”

Steve frowned. What had he been supposed to do about the Admiral?

It wasn’t like he could raise the dead.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand. I suppose it sounds reasonable that you would ask medical researchers to invest time in some more advanced treatment of radiation sickness on that scale, although frankly, I’m not sure if I’m still of any use to you at this point. But what would you have me do about the Admiral? I might be missing some general facts, but I’m pretty sure there’s no cure for death.”

Doctor Tyrell laughed at that, a sound that seemed to have startled her as much as it did him when she pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself.

“I’m sorry that was uncalled for, it’s just… That you – you! – are saying this…. I know you aren’t aware of it but that’s actually quite ironic.”

He frowned at her, but she continued unprompted.

“I’ll try to keep it short. Four years ago, you had to testify before a medical council pertaining the revocation of your medical license. As it was, you had experimented on some substances in the wake of your father’s death who was diagnosed with xenopolycythemia half a year prior. We- You never divulged any methods or what you did, which is why the medical board eventually found you not-guilty of breaking the Hippocratic Oath and violating basic ethic laws- but you managed to resurrect him. While you tried to get rid of any evidence, there were still some traces that indicated that your father truly had died yet was among the living and healthier than ever only a few days later. What we didn’t find out was how you did it – until the attacks.”

Tyrell looked at him, a seriousness in her expression that hadn’t even been there when she talked about the Klingon attacks. He felt goosebumps traveling down his arms and spine, gliding over his skin like cool waves.

“Your father- he was a brilliant doctor, like yourself, and his expertise continued to be requested even after he had retired. So, when the first metreon cascade hit- he was in the same meeting as Admiral Sucram. I’m sorry to tell you this, since you don’t remember anything but- your father died only two days before the admiral.”

It was difficult to place the sea of emotions he was experiencing. To know he had lost a father who he couldn’t even remember. There was grief and sadness, yet they appeared strangely distant. Muted. As if he were supposed to feel them, yet without a clear reference for whom he felt.  

But that wasn’t everything.

There was an odd feeling in the general location of his stomach. A vice, strangling his chest, leaving him shaky.

He had brought someone back from death. His memory might be gone, but violating that natural law, something that all living beings had to eventually encounter, the one fact that united them all, provided them with a reason to seize the day – creating something to cheat death was almost outrageous.

Why had he done it? He knew that it must have been out of love for his father, it was the only logical explanation considering that right now he would give everything for just the smallest memory of him.  

Almost everything.

Had his personal need really been so big that he would commit such an act, trespassing the one line the living should not ever dare to cross? Was he someone to place himself above the law of life?

It left him feeling unsure, unsettled. As if he had been handed pieces of two different puzzles that refused to fabricate a clear picture.

Steve must have said some of his thoughts aloud because Doctor Tyrell snorted.

“It’s a good question, Doctor, one we have asked you on countless occasions. Guess we’ll have to wait a bit longer to finally get an answer now that your memories are gone. But the fact remains: You were able to raise someone from the dead. And in the wake of these catastrophes, you agreed to do it again, this time not only to save your father, but the admiral too, as well as potentially millions of living beings who might die if this war doesn’t end soon.”

Steve flinched, looking at her with wide eyes. He had done the unthinkable and they asked him to do it again? Apart from the fact that he hadn’t got the first clue how to approach the endeavor, he truly believed that death should not be something to be tempered with. There was a reason for it, as painful as it could be for those left behind- as painful as it was for him, thinking about a dead, faceless father. Death gave all living beings a purpose, a drive to do better, achieve more.

Fear of death was what kept them alive. He couldn’t forget that a second time.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Tyrell. I’m sure you have your reasons, but you can’t ask that of me. Maybe I forgot my oath when I did it the first time, but…”

“But what? Saving one man was more important than saving millions of people?!”

Apparently, they had had that argument before because there was a glint of anger and frustration in Tyrell’s eyes before she was able to calm herself.

“I apologize, Doctor. But right now, you only have a vague glimpse of the horrors we endured during the last couple of weeks. I remember everything, the dead, the destruction. It took you long enough to agree the first time, so we really can’t afford to convince you again! So please, Doctor George. We have limited resources and options as it is. As a doctor and as a member of Starfleet, you swore oaths to heal and protect. Can you, in good conscience, walk away from that?”

He was being manipulated, and he knew it. It didn’t change the fact that she had struck a chord. Steve had sworn an oath, an oath that created the very dilemma he was in now. He had sworn to never play at God, but that was exactly what she was asking of him. Yet hadn’t he also sworn to do everything required to help those in need? Which path was the right one to walk?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to calm the conflicting thoughts rushing through his mind. If only his head would stop hurting at least. It was so hard to concentrate through the steady pain tearing through his brain like sharp shrapnel.

Taking a shaking breath, Steve looked at the palms of his hands.

“What- Could you tell me his name? My father’s”, he asked quietly. For Steve needed to know. Needed to know at least something about the person he had been before this accident. What better way than to start with the man who he had had done this the first time for?

Because if he was entirely honest with himself, there was no real option. If what she had told him was true, if he really had resurrected one man from the dead, how could he refuse to do the same for another and thereby prevent even more death and destruction? Refusal when so much was at stake was just as incriminating as the act of raising the dead itself.  

If only he could remember how he had done it in the first place.

Not that there was any guarantee that he would be able to do the same again. With his memory loss, he couldn’t be sure that truly all of his medical knowledge had remained intact.

“Your father’s name was David”, Doctor Tyrell answered, almost gently as if she knew of the inner conflict raging through Steve’s head.

David.

Steve let out a shaky breath.

It was strange. His memories might be gone, but the underlying emotion appeared to have remained as there was soothing warmth, an innocent joy accompanied with the softest touch of grief and longing filling him at that name. As if his unconsciousness recognized what his mind could not.

Placing his hands on the bio-bed to ground himself, Steve looked at Doctor Tyrell.

“Alright. Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that this chapter is shorter compared to some of the previous ones, but it seemed like a good place to stop! 
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter (and can live with Steve for a while ;)), let me know what you think!


	6. Hoping what you need is behind every door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm like one week late in my updates- or is it two weeks? Anyways, I'm late and I'm sorry. This chapter just got longer and longer, and there were more and more things that needed to be included. Ever feel like characters have a mind of their own?! That totally happened here. 
> 
> On the bright side, you get a long chapter, so you have lots of reading material. Hope you like the chapter, it was challenging but also quite fulfilling to write. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

_All the world's a stage,_

_And all the men and women merely players;_

_They have their exits and their entrances,_

_And one man in his time plays many parts._

William Shakespeare, “All the world’s a stage”

It didn’t help.

Despite the information provided by Farek, there weren’t any major breakthroughs. Of course, Admiral Henry saw that quite differently. According to Spock, who had dutifully reported the content of the meeting between himself, Admiral Henry and Chief Admiral Cartwright after the interrogation, the admiral considered the information a huge progress. After all, they were now able to determine a radius in which the suspects were most likely to hide, assuming they would be somewhere close to the shop. As the admiral had pointed out, they couldn’t stay out in the open for too long without running the risk of being recognized by someone and public transport was well equipped with surveillance cameras. Using it simply was too high a gamble, but Starfleet Security was nonetheless scanning every camera in the area and in the transportation service nearby for any sightings, however unlikely they may be.  

Then there was the issue with the toothbrushes. The material by Farek’s security camera confirmed that there were five toothbrushes which, according to Admiral Henry, was a good sign. It meant that the kidnappers didn’t plan to despatch their hostage and seemed to have some regards for his wellbeing if they deemed it necessary to provide him with hygiene products.

Jim wasn’t so sure if that was really any news. Considering the trouble they went through to abduct Bones specifically, it would be rather surprising if they planned on killing him- or at least, killing him so soon. Damn, Jim really hadn’t needed that kind of worry to add to his constant stream of anxiousness.

At least, Spock seemed to have shared his sentiment that Admiral Henry’s reasoning on that account wasn’t as paramount as the former made it to be if his raised eyebrows during the recap were any indication.

The next day revealed what everyone had almost expected: There was no further video footage of either the fugitives or Bones. The radius in which they were most likely to hide was still far too large, making it hard to search it. It was one of the shabbier parts of the city and was a mix of business buildings, warehouses and residential buildings, and while Jim would instinctively go for one of the warehouses, he had to admit that randomly searching them could do more harm than good, potentially alerting the former agents and forcing them to move somewhere else.

Then they truly would be left with nothing.

But simply because Starfleet couldn’t start knocking on doors didn’t mean that Jim wasn’t able to. After all, Chief Admiral Cartwright had left him with a generous amount of leisure time and nobody could stop him from taking a relaxing stroll through the city. If that just happened to lead him into the neighborhood of Farek’s business, well, that was just a funny coincidence.

Naturally, being the responsible first officer that he was Spock had refused to disclose the information as to where exactly the presumed search radius was located, putting Jim in the awkward position of hacking the Vulcan’s PADD.

Spock was so going to kill him when he found out.

But that was future Jim’s problem.

Right now, Jim was simply glad that he was finally able to do something to relieve the frustrated, helpless energy constantly running through his veins. Admiral Henry might have considered these results as major breakthroughs but anything less than finding Bones didn’t qualify as such in Jim’s eyes.

Day seven of Bones’ absence therefore saw Jim lurking on a crossroad opposite an empty warehouse, debating whether it would be too obvious a choice and thus a useless search or not.

“Funny meeting you here.”

His heart momentarily located itself in his throat, choking him before dropping back to its usual spot. Instinctively, Jim flinched away, turning and simultaneously adapting a defensive posture.

Only to be met with a wide-eyed Sulu, who had raised his hands as if to surrender.

“Whoa, sorry Captain! Didn’t mean to startle you that much, you ‘kay?”

Jim exhaled sharply. Running a hand over his face, he glared at the helmsman.

“Damn it, Sulu! Warn a guy.” Then, realizing just where they were meeting and how unlikely it was to be a real coincidence, he sighed. “What are you doing here? Please tell me you didn’t follow me all the way from campus till here. You know I love spy movies, but that would be taking it too far.”

Sulu grinned, stance relaxing. “No need for that. Spock had a feeling that you might try something like that and-“

“Spock? Had a feeling?” He knew it was simply a figure at speech, but Jim just had to jump at the expression.

Sulu glared at that and Jim smirked.

“How he hasn’t strangled you yet is beyond me”, he deadpanned.

“Not for lack of trying.” Geez, it was almost too easy, Sulu provided way too many openings.

“Fine, forget it, you clearly don’t want to know. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m gonna stick with you for the rest of the afternoon.”

Jim sobered at that.

“Now wait a second, you…. No, come on, tell me- how did you find me? Not like San Francisco is all that small.”

Glaring at him once more, probably just for good measure, Sulu relented.

“Spock had suspected that you would do something, as he called it, ‘very typical for the Captain, acting without considering all the facts and therefore placing himself in peril’. He even calculated the risk to be 76,68 percent.”

This time it was Sulu who grinned cheekily and Jim sulking. He wasn’t that bad, damn it!

“Anyways, Spock asked Scotty to install a tracking device in your communicator since he, correctly, assumed that you would find a way to get your hands on the information regarding the precise location of the search radius. Since Spock is still caught up in headquarters, he asked me to follow you and make sure you wouldn’t do anything- stupid. My words, not his. By the way, he told me, and I quote again, ‘to inform the Captain that I will wish to speak with him upon his return to discuss the illogical manner in which he acted in great detail’.”

Oh well. He had suspected that something of the likes would happen. At least he was warned and could steel himself against the logic Spock would be throwing his way.

“So, it’s a bit like a spy movie after all”, Jim said.

Sulu rolled his eyes but didn’t comment it any further.

“What are you planning on doing here anyway? Running from warehouse to warehouse, building to building? You do realize that as former agents of Section 31 they might be prepared for that and have a warning system or the like in place, right?”

Funny, the impact words can have. The easy feeling warming Jim in one second dropped back to the constant worry in another, tying his stomach back in knots that had relaxed momentarily.

Obviously, he knew that. They might be on the run and their options may be limited, but Jim didn’t doubt for a moment that the fugitives were as prepared as they could be under these circumstances. They had been part of Section 31 which meant that they were among the best of the best, trained for this kind of situations. So yes, objectively Jim knew that the chances of finding any clues by randomly searching the area by himself were close to zero.

That didn’t change the fact that he had to try.

“Geez, I know Sulu, I know! It’s just- right now, that is the only thing I can do! Cartwright won’t let me work, I’m not part of the investigation and my mind is going in circles around ideas of what they could be doing to him. I mean- Fuck, it has been seven days!”

A week. What were the statistics for a person missing for one week? Spock would be able to tell him. Maybe Jim would ask him. Once the Vulcan had finished his lecture.

Sulu looked at him, features a mix of pity and understanding.

On instinct, his hands balled into fists. Jim hated pity, he didn’t need it.

“Why don’t we go somewhere and talk a bit? Get some coffee? No offense, Captain, but you look like you could use one.”

Jim snorted, feeling the tension drain as quickly from his body as it had built up. When he glanced back at the warehouse, Sulu offered, “We can come back later if you still want to. Promise, I’m not going to forcibly drag you back to the campus. You’re way too heavy for that.”

That elicited a laugh from Jim and he relented. He really hadn’t slept well that night – the last six to be honest – and coffee suddenly sounded very good.  

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Sulu. That’s all muscles.”

“Sure, if you say so, Captain.”

Fifteen minutes later saw them sitting in a coffeeshop down the street, two steaming cups of non-replicated coffee in front of them.

Folding his hands around the one in front of him, Sulu seamlessly picked up the conversation where they had left it.  

“Captain- Jim. I understand how you feel, but Starfleet is giving all they can- heck, the entire crew is giving everything.”

Good damn it, that wasn’t the problem! Jim knew that Starfleet was taking this seriously, was looking at every possible avenue. Spock was part of the search and if he had to trust anyone else with Bones’ safety than himself, then it would be the Vulcan. He would ensure that the investigation would be as efficient as possible.

But that wasn’t the fucking point!

“The point is there is nothing that **I** can do to help him! I feel like I’m going to explode, there’s this itch, this furious energy buzzing under my skin and I just can’t make it stop because he isn’t here and there’s nothing- I fucking can’t do anything. And this way I’m at least here… He might be somewhere close, I might find something, anything…”, Jim broke off.

Sulu’s gaze had softened, reflecting a certain knowledge that made Jim’s gut twist and he had to turn away, looking out of the window and at the pedestrians walking by.  

“This way my mind has something else to do rather than being occupied with images of how- how they might hurt him. What they want from him. It’s been seven days. What if they- the footage by Farek is already four days old. What if they don’t need him anymore? What if they went to all this trouble, hurt him so badly that they got what they wanted and have already killed him?”

Because that was crucial. The agents might have cared about their hostage’s well being at the beginning, but after a week? There was no way of really knowing if that still held true. Not that they even knew for certain that the damn fifth toothbrush was for the doctor. Heck, maybe they just wanted an extra one for themselves. And Bones wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t security. He was a doctor, supposed to heal people after events liked this. Not meant to be exposed to torture.

“Jim?”, Sulu said quietly. Jim looked back at the helmsman. The pity was still there, igniting brief irrational fury in Jim again, but there was a soft hesitance as well.

“Can I- I need to ask you something and I want you to really think about it before you answer.”

Sulu was gnawing at his lip briefly, flicking his eyes to the table before they focused back on Jim again. He was nervous, Jim thought. Never a good sign in combination with such a question.

“What is McCoy to you?”

Jim looked at the helmsman, involuntarily raising an eyebrow. What kind of question was that? Everyone knew who Bones was to him.

“What he- He has been my best friend since the academy. What question is that, you know that.”

Sulu shook his head.

“No. I mean yeah, obviously, I know. Everyone on the Enterprise knows that. But that wasn’t what I meant.”

Again, the lip gnawing. Jim really wished Sulu would just spit it out.

“Your description, the constant worry… Maybe I’m wrong it’s just… I tried to put myself in your shoes and compare it to Chekov. We’re close, maybe not as much as you and McCoy, but he’s definitely one of my closest friends, so I imagined if it were Chekov who was taken and… I would be worried about him, of course, and I would try everything to find him. But this desperate urge to **do** something, like you’re describing it…. That’s more what I would feel if Ben was kidnapped.”

Sulu looked at him, face calm and serious now that he had said it.

“The thought of Ben being gone and there’s nothing I could do… I would feel helpless, counting every second in which I didn’t know where he was… Visualizing every hurt someone could inflict on him, feeling like some vital body part was missing…. For all the friendship, I wouldn’t feel that for Chekov. Only for Ben. And Demora, obviously, but that’s different.”

A pit of icy water thrown in his face wouldn’t feel as shocking. It was a strange sensation. As if his mind had decided to provide him with another perspective for a change, one he had never considered before, and completely turn around his world view.

Jim understood where Sulu was coming from, he himself had felt that his reaction seemed too strong at times. But was this the right conclusion? Did that really mean he cared for Bones more than a friend?  

There was a whirlwind of emotions, of thoughts and contemplations, tearing through him, being turned over and over in his head, twisting his insides and making his heart race.

Of course he loved Bones. He was his best friend, the first one he had had in years. Since Tarsus. Bones had been there to wake him from his nightmares, always offered a shoulder to lean on and an open ear to listen. Crumbling and complaining, the doctor had always followed Jim’s lead, believed in him and reminded him to live up to the potential Pike had seen in him when Jim himself had lost sight of it. Whenever Spock’s logical approach had become too much, Bones had given his advice and opinion during Jim’s first year as Captain of the Enterprise; sound and thought-through, but always interwoven with the passion the doctor seemed incapable of repressing.

Bones was the first one he thought of whenever something happened during the day, and the last person Jim could ever bear the thought of losing- hence his problems with the present situation. The doctor was closer to him than his mother and even his brother.

Bones was family. He was home.

But did this mean that he loved him as more than just a friend?

“Jim?”

Jim raised his eyes from where he had sightlessly gazed at the table in front of him, looking at Sulu who regarded him in mild concern.

“I- I think I need something stronger than coffee.”

His throat was constricted, making it difficult to press out the words, but the helmsman seemed to understand what he meant.

“Well, let’s see if this lovely place serves some alcohol then. I’m not taking you to a bar; Spock would have my head.”

As it turned out, the coffeeshop did indeed serve something alcoholic. It was only beer, mind you, but Jim would take what he could get.

Two beers later Jim felt no closer to an answer. He kept turning over the question in his head, comparing his memories and the attached emotions to what he knew about love. Which, in all honesty, was more theory than practice. The last time he had claimed to love someone had been when he was still in high-school and he was pretty certain that this brief teenage love differed to the love Sulu had been talking about. But there hadn’t been anyone else since then. No one serious at least. Men, women, humans, different species, there had always be someone to have fun with, but no one who had mattered.

There had been Gaila. Jim had cared for her more than the others, had considered her a friend outside the bedroom as well. A friend with benefits to use the old phrase from the 21st century. But he hadn’t returned the romantic feelings she had apparently harbored for him.

Jim had to force his train of thoughts away from that. Thinking about Gaila always filled him with grief for her death and regret for how things had ended between them.

So, Gaila had been the closest thing to romantic love he had experienced as an adult, and he was quite sure it didn’t really qualify as such.

But how was he supposed to know if his feelings for Bones ran deeper than friendship?

Jim gazed at Sulu. The helmsman had been exceptional company so far. Correctly judging that Jim needed time to think but unwilling to leave him alone, he had sat in silence. At some point, he had taken out his PADD, busying himself with who knew what.

“How do I know if what I feel for him is love? And not merely deep friendship?”

Sulu looked up from his PADD and Jim felt himself flushing. God, but he sounded pathetic.

Instead of immediately answering, Sulu put down the device and hummed thoughtfully.

“I think there is no easy answer. Personally, I consider friendship to be the best basis for romantic love, so I would say the foundation for a romantic relationship between you and McCoy has been there for quite some time. And no one can, and should, force you to transform that into something more if you don’t want to. I think you love him, really love him, but so far only considered him a friend as it seems to be a safer term. No pressure, no expectations, just the emotional safety to know someone has your back no matter what. And ultimately, it’s up to you whether you want to change anything about this status. If you want to find out if he feels as deeply about you. Although I have to say, before you approach him, you should seriously consider where you want this relationship between the two of you to go. I don’t really see McCoy reacting well if you suddenly changed your mind a few weeks later or something the like.”

Jim grimaced. Yeah, considering the fallout of Bones’ divorce, he wouldn’t expect that as well.

“So, me pointing out that you might love him as more than a friend doesn’t mean that you need to act on that, or even that it’s true. Love is not a universal constant, and everyone has a different understanding what it means to love someone. You just need to figure out what love, romantic love, the kind you want in a relationship, means to you, if that is what you feel for McCoy and if you want to act on these feelings to see if they are reciprocated”, Sulu finished.

Jim snorted. “’Just’, hm?”

Sulu grinned lopsidedly.

“Didn’t say it was easy.”

Jim nodded. It didn’t sound easy at all.

Taking a sip from his beer, Sulu said, “You don’t need to find an answer now and you certainly don’t have to tell me. Just- think about it for the next couple of days. Or even weeks. In the end, it’s up to you.”

Jim had to swallow.

“What- what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

_What if I lose him after all, this time because I chased him away by wanting more than he was comfortable to give?_

Sulu rolled his eyes.

“He brought you back from the dead. I would say that’s a pretty good indicator that he wouldn’t be completely averse to the idea. You don’t do that for just about anyone.”

Finishing his beer, the helmsman waived over the waiter, gesturing that they wanted to pay.

“So, you wanna go back to that warehouse?”

Jim didn’t really think that they would find anything in the building and he was certain that Sulu thought the same. But it gave him something to do, distracting his mind from the emotional turmoil rushing through him.

“It depends. Do I get to call you ‘Watson’?”

In the end, they spent three hours searching not only the warehouse but checking out the entire neighborhood, marking spots that could potentially function as suitable hideouts, places that they could look into the next day. Because as long as Bones wasn’t found, Jim would keep searching the area. At some point, he had to find something.

When he returned home to Spock’s and Uhura’s apartment in the evening, Jim felt emotionally wrung out. The search had been a distraction, but the new thoughts placed into his head by Sulu wouldn’t keep quiet.

Jim had honestly never entertained the thought that the relationship between him and Bones might be the ground for more than friendship.  They were close, yes, Bones being the first person he had been able to trust completely, no questions asked, nothing required in return. But was there romantic love?

Sighing, Jim keyed in the code to the apartment. It would probably be for the best if he took some time to think about it, just like Sulu had suggested.

Problem was that he hated an unsolved puzzle.

When he entered, he was greeted with the sight of Uhura sitting on the sofa, nervously glancing between the holo-screen, on which a movie or a holo-series or the like was playing, and the kitchen, where Jim could hear the hissing of something cooking on the stove and materials clattering against each other as if someone was stirring something in a pot.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“What’s going on?”

Uhura jumped slightly, apparently too distracted to have noticed his entrance. Looking up at him, she said, “Spock suggested he wanted to cook for a change, seeing as the last couple of days you and I took turns, but he didn’t. Said it was only logical if he contributed to our meals as well since he ate our cooking too and all. It’s just”, and here her gaze drifted back to the kitchen, “as far as I know, Spock only knows Vulcan recipes. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure those are up to my taste”, she finished, having lowered her voice somewhat at the last part.

Before Jim could answer, Spock stepped out of the kitchen, wearing - an apron of all things. Where was a camera when you needed one?!

Trying to maintain a straight face but feeling his mouth twitch nonetheless, Jim said, “Nice look, Mister Spock. What is it I hear about you indulging us with some self-cooked Vulcan meals?”

Dealing with Vulcans really required close mimetic analysis, but Jim was becoming rather good at it. The subtle change in his first officer’s face displayed both annoyance as well as indulgence which frankly was a strange look all together.

“Thank you, Captain. I have to say this apron is a rather logical clothing for cooking. Also, you are slightly misinformed. I have indeed cooked but tried myself on some human recipes. I hope they will be to your liking. Please, take a seat, dinner is prepared.”

Both Jim and Uhura looked at each other in surprise. It was oddly considerate of Spock to cook something more to their taste. Not that he wasn’t capable of being considerate it just seemed- suspicious that he chose to do so on a random day.

As it turned out, Spock hadn’t just cooked any meal but smoked baked beans, smashed potatoes and meatloaf.

Looking at the food, Jim felt a piercing stab in his heart and involuntarily made a choked off sound.

It was Bones’ favorite food. Something the doctor had once told him reminded him of home, of his father preparing dinner for the family.

During their academy days, Bones had occasionally cooked it when he had felt homesick, making Jim rather fond of the meal as well in the process. It had been served on the Enterprise once or twice per Jim’s request in the mess hall, on days when he knew his friend needed some cheering up.

Spock must have noticed him ordering the meal specifically – something Jim usually never did – and come to the conclusion that he appreciated it more than others.

Which led to the question why Spock had thought that preparing this dish today was necessary.

Unless the food was meant to appease him. And why would a Vulcan deem it essential to placate someone?

Jim raised his head and looked sharply at Spock. “What aren’t you telling me?”

If he hadn’t looked so closely and didn’t know his first officer so well, Jim would have missed the light twitch of his left eye that suggested the Vulcan was feeling nervous. Or as close as he allowed himself to experience any emotion.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Captain. As I told you, I simply wished to express my gratitude to you and Nyota for preparing dinner the last few days. Considering your situation at the moment and based on Nyota’s inclination to prepare food that appears to be specifically to your liking, I thought it prudent to continue this course of action and cook a meal of which I knew that it was to your taste. Is this not correct? Have I offended you?”

Jim should let it go. It sounded plausible enough and Spock honestly couldn’t have known that this was Bones’ favorite meal rather than his. But Jim had never been good at letting things be and his nerves felt frayed, the constant worry having worn them as thin as a silken thread, close to tearing at any moment.

And there was this gut feeling. This sensation as if he had found a weak spot, as if something had actually happened and Spock tried to conceal it from him. He only needed to dig deeper.

“I call bullshit! I know you can be considerate if you want to but why today of all…”

Something else hit him. It was like a bucket of ice dropped on his head, chilling his body.

“You sent Sulu after me. You had Scotty install a tracking device and ordered Sulu to keep an eye on me – not so I wouldn’t do anything reckless but because you didn’t want me to come to the campus. Why – what didn’t you want me to find out?!”

The Vulcan honestly was a bad liar if one knew the signs, which really belied the whole Vulcans-do-not-lie saying. The twitch was there again, more discernible than before and when Spock briefly looked aside from Jim’s gaze, he lost it.

On a rational level, he knew again that he overreacted, that he should simply talk to his first officer about it. But Jim was tired, so damn tired both physically and mentally. He wanted someone to finally provide him with some answers, to give him some clues about where his friend was, what was happening to him.

It was just bad timing that Spock had to bear the brunt of Jim’s frustration finally exploding.

As if through a looking glass, strangely disconnected, Jim saw himself wiping the plate from the table, not even flinching at the shattering of the porcelain or Uhura’s outraged cry. A furious energy was rushing through his body, wave after wave tearing through him, filling every nerve ending and drowning him in anger. It wanted to burst through his skin, buzzed in his ears, tilted the world out of its angles and he had absolutely no control over it. It was a terrifying feeling, being so controlled by this emotion that Jim felt like a bystander in his own body.

There were words tumbling out of his mouth, words he had absolutely no saying in. Later, when he had calmed down, he would regret it. In this moment, however, all Jim cared about was alleviating his anger, his fear. The mind-numbing guilt accompanying him since the moment they had discovered Bones’ abduction. The beast gnawing at his innards had wanted out and now that it was released it didn’t care who it hurt in the process.

Jim was still shouting, hurling insults at his friend. At some point he must have gotten up for suddenly he found himself looking down at the Vulcan. Uhura was standing as well, next to Spock, face pale and her hand grabbing Spock’s shoulder tightly. Spock himself hadn’t moved a muscle, his face the perfect mask of stoicism. His eyes though. His eyes portrayed a different story. His eyes told Jim that his words were hitting their mark.

At some point he ran out of things to say. Breathing harshly as if he had forced himself awake from a bad dream, Jim felt empty, spent. Like he had burnt up all his emotions and was now a mere vessel.

Silence reigned between them for a moment, the quietness of the room intercepted only from faraway noises somewhere in the building.

When he realized that Jim had calmed down a bit, Spock finally stood up. Calmly as ever, the Vulcan looked at him before he spoke.

“There has been some news concerning Doctor McCoy’s disappearance. This morning, a Security officer was caught as he tried to gain entrance to the area where Khan and his crew are held until they can be transported to a safer facility. Upon interrogating him, he soon became entangled in contradictions and lies until he finally confessed that he had been paid by the fugitives to supply them with inside information and equipment from Starfleet they hadn’t been able to take with them during their escape. Apparently, there is a secret account established by Admiral Marcus some years ago which they used to bribe the officer. It took some time, but he was finally- convinced that it would be in his best interest to disclose the information concerning the prisoners’ whereabouts. About Doctor McCoy he had nothing to say as he had never seen him since they had taken him. Admiral Henry is currently preparing a team that will storm the hideout in the early hours of the morning. I plan to accompany them.”

Spock paused for a moment, looking down at his hands and then back up at Jim.

“I wanted to talk to you about this new information during dinner and had hoped that the meal in combination with the good news would raise your spirit. I apologize if I misjudged the situation.”

Sick. He wasn’t rid of every feeling as Jim discovered because in this moment he simply felt sick.

Before anyone else could say something, he stumbled towards the bathroom, hand in front of his mouth and just managed to reach the toilet before he hurled the contents of his empty stomach alongside the poisonous words into the bowl. His stomach cramped painfully as Jim kept retching, uncontrollable shakings gripping his body. A sob tore itself from his throat before he was back to throwing up.   

At some point he felt a cool cloth on his head and a hand on his shoulder. Jim wished he could shake both off; he didn’t deserve any kindness after how he had treated Spock – and indirectly Uhura as well – but he knew that rejecting their help would only hurt them more. And he had done enough of that already.

After a couple more dry heaves, Jim felt stable enough to lean back, resting his head against the smooth, cool material of the toilet, letting it sooth him for only a moment.

“Captain?”

Jim’s eyes shot open at the use of his title. He was no captain. He certainly hadn’t acted like one when he had insulted his Vulcan officer. Hadn’t acted the part since the beginning of Bones’ absence if he was honest with himself.

Jim felt the anger simmer underneath the exhausted front, this time directed at himself.

He needed to get out. Get an outlet, lash out at someone.

Finally shrugging off the hand still resting on his shoulder, Jim pushed himself off the ground. Without looking at Spock crouching beside him, he walked out into the living room. Glancing only briefly at Uhura who had sat down at the table and looked mutely at the mess he had made of the meal, Jim paused only briefly to get a jacket, purposefully leaving his communicator on the counter, before he left the apartment.

Once he stepped outside the building the cool night air helped to reign in the rollercoaster of emotions somewhat. It gave him enough presence of mind to think where he was about to go.

Jim wanted to hit someone, hit them so hard until all the anger at himself, at the situation at large was finally, finally gone. But while he would have gone to a bar to pick a fight just a couple of months ago, he was aware enough to realize that he couldn’t do that anymore. Whatever he had done today, he couldn’t ruin his official reputation as captain by partaking in a bar brawl.

Pike had told him to respect the chair. It was time Jim finally acted the part and be it only by not following well established habits.

That left him with only one other choice: the gym.

Half an hour later, Jim was running on the treadmill, speed up to the absolute maximum of what his body was able to give. Running had always helped him to clear his mind, especially running at such a speed that all his thoughts were occupied with keeping up with the fast pace dictated by the machine. Today was no different and for the first forty-five minutes his mind was blissfully empty.

At some point, though, he had to reduce the speed or risk seriously hurting himself and while Jim could be careless with his health, he didn’t really fancy having to check-in into medical because of a sports accident.

Unfortunately, the slower pace left room for the thoughts to return and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Stopping the treadmill and looking around, Jim saw what he had been looking for: a punching bag. The next best thing after hitting someone in a bar fight.

Tearing into the hard material with his fists felt good. After some time, his hands were burning, the muscles in his arms feeling as if they were on fire and Jim relished the feeling. Hurting himself was alright, it was acceptable. Hurting his friends wasn’t. Losing his friends wasn’t. Not being able to do anything for his best friend… Jim hit the bag all the harder for that thought, immersing himself entirely into the cycle of punching the bag again and again.

When his arms finally gave out, Jim had no idea how much time had passed. Panting and sweating, he weakly dropped on the blue thick mat lying on the ground.

The anger had finally left him. Only exhaustion remained. Exhaustion and a strange sense of clarity regarding two things.

First, Jim needed to get his act together. In its essence, the situation concerning Pike and Bones was the same. Jim had let his emotions, be it grief or frightened worry, get the better of him. With Pike’s death, it had led him on a revenge trip that had eventually cost thousand innocent civilians their lives. Concerning Bones’ disappearance, the damage at least hadn’t been as catastrophic, although the jury was still out on the situation he had created with Spock. Yet Jim had again allowed emotions to dictate his actions, to paralyze him.

And it hadn’t been only these two instances. For the entirety of his brief captaincy, his decisions had, ultimately, been based on gut feelings. That they hadn’t run out of luck earlier was only thanks to the qualifications of his crew. If he wanted to be the captain Pike had apparently seen in him, heck, if he wanted to be the captain Jim himself strived to be, he needed to change, take responsibility for his actions like he should have after the Nibiru incident. He thought he had understood before, in the hospital, after he had woken up, after he had talked with Uhura. After the many sessions with his therapist. But the real revelation came upon him now, lying on the floor in a deserted Academy gym. Jim needed to finally respect the chair, own his decisions and reign in some of his more impulsive decisions- not all of them, but some.

Second, Sulu had been right. Jim was in love with his best friend. If he needed any more proof that his feelings went far beyond the realm of friendship, this outburst had proven it. He still wasn’t sure how to define it, couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when friendship had shifted towards more. Jim only knew that the thought of never seeing his friend smile again, laugh again, pat him on the back, grumble and complain about new away missions, offer advice, have his back, be this solid fixture and constant in his life while Jim made sure to do the same and more in return – the thought of potentially losing all that tore out his heart and left him physically sick, pain pulsing in his chest.  

It was the closest thing Jim could come up with as a definition for love.

Groaning as he carefully pushed himself off the ground, Jim slowly trotted back towards the changing room.

First things first, he needed to apologize to Spock. If he really wanted to change, Jim needed to own his actions and although everything in him balked at the thought of going back to that apartment and confront the disaster he had created, he knew it was the only possible solution, however uncomfortable.  

The slow walk back to the apartment building provided just enough time for Jim to get a little anxious about the upcoming talk with his first officer. It was totally necessary, but he had screwed up. Screwed up really bad by using everything he knew about the Vulcan against him. They had gotten closer after the Khan debacle, but they were still a far cry from the close and unbeatable command team Ambassador Spock had told them about.

Jim feared that he had pushed that version even further into the distant future.

Standing in front of the apartment way too quickly for his liking, Jim squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Why were the right things always so difficult and uncomfortable?

There was a small spark of relief when he keyed in the access code and found it unchanged. Entering, he noted the dimmed light in the living room and soft voices coming from the holo-screen. Glancing in the direction, Jim stopped shortly at seeing Uhura curled up on the sofa, a quilt thrown over her body. Her features were relaxed in sleep and a stray lock of her black hair was hanging into her face, twitching slightly with every even breath.

Looking around, he saw Spock sitting at the table, cleared from the mess Jim had made. Hot shame crept up his face as he remembered his actions and for a moment, he had to look away. Then he went over and sat down across from the Vulcan who had looked up when Jim had stepped into the flat and now regarded him neutrally.

A pot of tea had been placed in the middle of the table and Spock held a steaming cup in his hand. An empty one was resting next to the pot and Jim wondered whether it had been intended for Uhura or him.

“Captain, I-“

Jim held up his hand and Spock quietened.

“First, for this conversation I need you to call me Jim. I haven’t – acted like a captain, so there is no need to call me one. Also, it’s a personal talk, so let’s forgo the titles.”

Spock inclined his head as if he agreed.

Placing his hands in front of him and taking a deep breath, Jim said the first thing that came to his mind.

“I’m emotionally compromised.”

Huh. That hadn’t been what he had wanted to say.

Spock raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘ _Well, no news there’._

Jim shook his head.

“No that is… I mean…. Alright. Alright.”

He looked at the Vulcan again who regarded him silently.

“It was Bones’ favorite meal. The dinner you prepared. It was his favorite, not mine.”

A spark of regret flickered in the Vulcan’s eyes and he dipped his head lightly.

“I was not aware of that and I apologize for the hurt this has apparently caused you. It was not my intention.”

There was a slight hesitation before he continued.

“Yet I have gone through the events of the evening repeatedly, first with Nyota and then by myself. And I fail to see how my actions, however unintentionally hurtful, would warrant such a reaction.”

Jim winced.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. It wasn’t your fault, honestly, you did nothing to deserve my rage. You got- caught in the crossfire.”

Seeing that Spock didn’t understand, he elaborated.

“I’m emotionally compromised. Have been since the first day Bones was taken, I just didn’t really accept it earlier. The past week has been- hard. I could barely concentrate on my work and every second I kept thinking of what they might be doing to him. My emotions were running- havoc.”

Jim snorted.

“Looking back, I would say I was completely controlled by them. Just as I have been during my captaincy so far. Should have used more of your logic to balance it out. So, today, when you prepared that meal – I already had a very emotional talk with Sulu. I was so tired, and my nerves were raw and – I could just tell that you did it to conceal something. I knew there was something you weren’t telling me and all my worries – I just snapped. I wanted to hurt someone, and you were just – there. Providing the ideal target.”

He sighed and looked directly at Spock for his next words. Jim really wanted the Vulcan to know that he meant them.

“I am sorry, Spock! None of what I said is true, I didn’t mean any of it. I’m so sorry that I lashed out at you. It doesn’t make it better, but I really didn’t want to. I just – I had no control over it”, he finished lamely.

For a while, they sat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmur of the voices on the holo-screen and Uhura’s even breathing. Spock looked at him, face an entirely unreadable mask. Just when the silence started to become uncomfortable, the Vulcan broke it.

“Thank you, Jim. I – understand your reasonings, although I do not condone them. I have to admit, some of the words you used were – irritating. Illogical and untrue and therefore hurtful because they contained issues once shared in mutual understanding. Some of this trust has been – weakened. Yet I am certain we will be able to reclaim it.”

Jim nodded, throat tight. God, he could be such an asshole! This was basically Spock pouring his heart out and still talking about forgiveness. He really needed to do better.

“Thanks, Spock. I – it won’t happen again, promise.”

Spock nodded.

“I will hold you to it.”

Pausing only briefly, he continued.

“There is yet another issue we need to discuss. The operation taking place in the morning to rescue Doctor McCoy.”

A jolt ran through Jim at those words, electrifying every nerve ending. Right. They had found something. He had been so focused on the fallout with Spock and his own inadequacies that for a moment he had entirely forgotten about this paramount information.

Tomorrow Bones could be home.

Jim nodded tightly.

“Right. You mentioned someone relaying information to the fugitives from the inside?”

Spock inclined his head in confirmation.

“That is correct. Apparently, the lieutenant was approached by Commander Centrich shortly after he was brought in for questioning. The commander promised him monetary repayment if the lieutenant helped him and three others to escape and endow them with some medical and research equipment that had been confiscated during the search of their headquarter. It was only by chance that he heard the address of the prisoners’ intended hideout when he turned over the vehicle in which they transported the stolen items to their destination.”

At this point, Spock took a short break, refilling his cup with new tea and offering Jim some as well. It was a stalling tactic, Jim could tell, but he accepted the warm liquid nonetheless.

“They contacted him again approximately 5.2 days ago and asked him to procure a small amount of Khan’s blood. The attempt today was already his second try; during the interrogation the lieutenant confessed that he had already delivered one sampling.”

Heat was rushing through Jim’s body and there was a strange white noise in his head.

They had wanted Khan’s blood. Had wanted certain equipment. There was only one reason why the augment’s blood specifically would be of interest to them.

Jim felt the color drain from his face and all his insides dropping to somewhere close to his belly button as he considered what that might mean for Bones.

“They know.”

Spock shook his head.

“We can’t know that for certain yet. The evidence – “

“ – supports my fucking theory. They kidnapped Bones, specifically. Out of all the Starfleet personnel, heck of all the Admirals or even out of all the Enterprise members they could have abducted, those four Sections 31 agents randomly decide to take the one doctor who found a cure for fucking death?! And then they coincidentally ask for samples of Khan’s blood? Do you really fucking believe that this happened by accident?”

For a moment there was only silence, even the voices from the series or the movie still playing on the screen pausing.

“It appears- unlikely if you phrase it in such a way. Yet that raises the question how they would have obtained the information. Mr. Scott, Nyota and I went to great lengths to ensure that Doctor McCoy would not face any problems due to his- invention.”

Jim really loved his crew. It was instances like this one, when they looked out for each other unprompted, without a second thought, that he knew that they were family.

“You think someone leaked images and data of what he did?”

“Unclear, although I would suggest further looking into the matter.”

Jim agreed. He couldn’t afford to have a crewmember who he couldn’t fully trust out in the black.

Spock raised his voice again.

“As I already mentioned, the lieutenant provided us with the exact location of where the fugitives are presently hiding. The team will depart for it at zero six hours in the morning. I will accompany them. As will you.”

Jim blinked and simply looked at the Vulcan.

“I- I will what? I- but Admiral Cartwright…?”

Spock interrupted him.

“I spoke to the admiral again and persuaded him that your talents would be of better use if you were to join the team. Further, we don’t know in which – condition the doctor will be when we find him and while medical personnel will be present, the face of the person closest to him will certainly be a comfort in this situation. The admiral agreed under the condition that you will be under my command for this mission and that you will not interfere with the proceedings, whatever your personal or professional opinion about it.”

There were too many thoughts to process. _Don’t know in which condition the doctor will be in._ Fuck. It was an expression of all his fears and Jim felt sick contemplating it further.

And Spock. Jim had insulted Spock so badly, and the Vulcan had convinced the commander in chief that Jim could be part of the rescue.

The rescue. They were bringing Bones home. After a full week, they were this close. Jim was this close to seeing him again.

Goddamn, he really needed to do amends for how he had treated Spock.

Swallowing, Jim looked at the Vulcan and saw understanding in his eyes. Maybe they weren’t that far from being the amazing duo Ambassador Spock had told them about.

“Thank you, Spock! Honestly, you don’t know, just… Thank you!”

For the first time in one week, since the whole debacle had started, Jim felt confident that they could overcome this.

Bones was almost back home.

The worst was nearly over, and they could deal with the fallout once his friend was safe.

It couldn’t be worse than the constant worry of the past week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! This got quite emotional on so many levels, so I hope it was to your liking! <3
> 
> On another note, I'm afraid I won't be able to update every three weeks as I had planned, at least not if the progress of this chapter is any indication (if the next parts get shorter again, you might be lucky with the three weeks). I hope to stick to every four weeks and I will update as soon as a chapter is finished and beta-read.   
> Anticipation is the greatest pleasure, right? ^^


	7. Everyone has hopes, you're human after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, better late than never, right?! ^^   
> Enjoy! <3

_there are mountains_

_in my mind_

_and i will never_

_reach their peaks_

_each one remains_

_a stranger, one_

_i can never meet_

RD McManes, “Mountains in the Mind”

If anyone would have bothered to ask for his opinion, Steve could have told them that whatever else it might be to tamper with the barrier between life and death, easy it certainly was not.  

Steve had never expected anything else but after two days, he had to admit to himself that his unconsciousness might have clung to the hope of quicker results nonetheless – mostly because Doctor Tyrell had told him how much faster he had been the first time.

She was surely going to be disappointed.

According to the other doctor, Steve had carried some samples with him when he first arrived at the facility. However illogical it may be, Steve had hoped that despite his amnesia looking at them would jostle his mind enough to remember the steps he had taken the first time when he had created the serum.

And in a sense, they did. There was a sense of familiarity to them. Looking at the little droplets of crimson, magnified under the lens of the microscope, studying the cells replicate themselves faster than he had ever seen before… He had seen it before. Steve couldn’t remember, but looking at the probes, he knew with a certainty that this wasn’t the first time he gazed upon them.

It was comforting, in a strange way. A confirmation that Doctor Tyrell had told him the truth and that he had indeed once been able to perform what they asked of him. But more importantly, it provided a link. A link to the past that was still obscured, shrouded in darkness and hidden behind a veil. Tingling Steve with fleeting feelings of recognition, before moving out of reach again. It was frustrating and left him with a feeling of loss.  

At the same time, it was almost like a challenge. Steve knew he had done this before, had been smart enough to do the impossible.

Yet this time, he failed to do the same. It spurred him to do better, to prove himself.

Doctor Tyrell had hinted that it had only taken him three days to produce it the first time. Which left him with only one more day to repeat the same miracle. Steve really didn’t know how he had done it the first time because as it was, he was nowhere close to producing anything usable.

Steve heaved a frustrated sigh. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Tyrell look up from where she had been bent over her own probe under a microscope. She had joined him today, suggesting that two pairs of eyes might see more than one and with his memories gone, it couldn’t hurt to provide some additional expertise.

Not that Steve could argue with that logic. It simply made him feel- watched on occasion. When he glanced up only to see her gaze rest on him rather than on the probe. It was unnerving, but he couldn’t really do anything about it. Due to the circumstances of possible attacks from the Klingons at any moment, they were under lockdown. Which meant that since he had arrived – or at least since he could remember being here – Steve hadn’t left their hideout once. His world for the past two days had consisted of the laboratory, the room that functioned as his bedroom and a small kitchen. And slowly he could feel how that made him feel restless. As if it were a cage, the walls meant to protect them more a means to lock him in.

Maybe he would have found the solution to produce that damn serum already if only he could get some fresh air for just five minutes, god dammit!

Steve shook his head. He had no idea where that last thought had come from. They were under lockdown, end of story. Complaining about it wouldn’t change the situation.

“Doctor George?”

Inwardly, Steve cringed. Although he had offered her to use his first name, Doctor Tyrell insisted on calling him by his surname. Another quirk that only served to antagonized him more.

“It’s nothing. I just can’t get behind the idea of mixing this blood type with a human one. The regeneration is so fast, it would completely replace the human blood cells, transforming the patient into- whatever this is.”

He looked at the fellow doctor.

“You sure I didn’t say anything where I got this probe from? It shows similarities to humans, but there are obvious differences. Maybe if I knew what to compare it to…”

Doctor Tyrell shook her head.

“The only explanation you provided was that the donor was human but augmented. Which would explain the makeup of the hemogram.”

She hesitated, glancing briefly down at the microscope next to her.

“And what if we were to introduce the probe in very small doses so that the corpuscle of the patient can incorporate the foreign blood cells while they in turn stimulate the dead nervous system and organs?”

Steve bit his lips. Of course, he had thought about that as well. They would need to test this theory obviously – Doctor Tyrell had assured him that a blood sample from the dead admiral was on its way, so they could actually start working on a useable serum - but he had this feeling that it wouldn’t work. The cells from the probe were simply replicating too quickly and might eventually replace the original ones. And who knew what consequences that would bring.

No, Steve was certain that this hadn’t been his solution the first time. Which left the question, how the hell he had done it! Sometimes, when he was deep enough in a working trance and he completely forgot his surroundings, it felt as if there were some whispers at the back of his mind. Ready to give suggestions, taunting him with an answer, yet permanently out of reach and in the limbo between the unconscious and the concrete.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

Noticing her expectant gaze, Steve answered warily, “It needs to be tested but at the moment I don’t see it working. The donor’s cells simply replicate way too fast.”

Tyrell gave a huff.

“Well, then you better think of something else, and you better think of it quickly. We required your expertise for precisely that, and I for one won’t stand idly by while human men, women and children are slaughtered by aggressive aliens who don’t understand the meaning of peace! So, you better start showing some of that medical genius you’re so praised for, Doctor M-George!”

Tyrell had talked herself into a rage by the end, her green eyes blazing and breath going quicker. For a moment, she just stared at Steve, anger leaking seemingly from every pore, her body as tense as a bowstring, hands tightly balled into fists.

Then she blinked, once, twice, and Steve could see how she pressed her rage behind a wall of forced calmness, most obvious in the relaxing stance of her shoulders and the loosening of her fingers. Brushing a stray hairlock behind her ear, she stood up, face a conflicting puzzle of emotions before she managed to slip on a neutral mask again.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. This has been a stressful time for all of us and this outburst has been- uncalled for. If you would excuse me.”

Without waiting for a reply, she briskly walked past him, leaving the laboratory with a twin hiss of the door when it opened and closed behind her.

Steve blinked.

The accusation stung. He knew that his medical knowledge might not be as good as it had been before - although he only had Tyrell’s word that he had been as outstanding as she claimed him to be – but he still tried his best with what he had. Tyrell had basically blamed him for any further deaths because he was taking too long.

Rubbing his face, Steve got up as well. There was no use in trying to continue working at this point. His mind was running down a maze, returning to the same avenue again and again or getting lost in dead ends without a map to reach the center holding the solution.

The added pressure by reminding him what was at stake didn’t really help.

Thinking back to her words, Steve made a face.

The way she had pronounced “alien”… Tyrell really must have been upset. Otherwise she would have noticed the xenophobic undertone in her speech.

Slowly leaving the laboratory, Steve couldn’t help but contemplate the people around him.

There were things that made him – wary.

Doctor Tyrell had said that they were in a secret hideout and that working on this serum was of vital importance. Yet so far, he had only seen her, the Lieutenant Commanders Simril and Wildner and Commander Centrich. It just seemed strange to him that such an important project was only staffed with two doctors, even or maybe especially in a time of crisis. Tyrell was competent, that was out of question, but she was just one additional mind and with his amnesia, he would have thought that they would at least send one or two more medical researchers. 

Then there was the matter with the other three. Steve generally tried to avoid Simril and Centrich after he had been first introduced to them. They were polite enough but something about them set his teeth on edge, making him anxious without really being able to put a finger on it. Just as with Tyrell, he occasionally caught them watching him during their shared meals. Looking at him as if he held the answer to their prayers, although that wasn’t everything. No, especially in Simril’s gaze there was a certain hunger, an eagerness and cruelty that almost made Steve recoil from him in some abstract feeling of fear and revulsion. Centrich on the other hand always seemed as if he was two steps ahead of everyone. Always calculating, always planning. Always weighing every word against a greater plan Steve was unaware of.

The only one he got somewhat along with was Wildner.

He was only a couple of years older than Steve and despite the seriousness of the situation, which the others seemed to exude at every waking moment, the man always carried himself with a particular lightness, as if the worries of the ever-present danger another Klingon attack presented simply rolled off his shoulders. In the last two days, Steve had spent the few hours of leisure with the Lieutenant Commander. He enjoyed his humor and confident demeanor, but most of all, he liked that Wildner appeared to be the only one who didn’t feel the need to constantly observe him.

In contrast to the vigilance of the others, it was refreshing.

Not really feeling like sitting in his room and simply starring at the walls – despite Wildner’s promises, Steve still hadn’t gotten a PADD – he trotted towards the kitchen.

Maybe a sandwich would hold the answer to all his questions.

It didn’t.

 Halfway through his snack, Wildner entered the kitchen, beaming when he saw Steve sitting at the table. Casually he dropped into a chair across from Steve.

“Doc! Just the one I’ve been looking for!”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“This is already off to a less than promising start.”

Wildner laughed.

“Nah, no need to worry. I just thought I might add some color to some of the side projects I’m working on. You know, instead of just keeping everything in a boring grey or silver – as long as it doesn’t impact its functionality, why not brighten up some bits and pieces?! So, what’s your favorite color?”

Steve felt his throat tighten.

“What?”

“Your favorite color. Might as well use some you folks like.”

It was such a simple question and Steve was unable to answer it. He felt his heart beat painfully in his chest and he suddenly found it difficult to draw breath as a feeling of loss momentarily overwhelmed him.

Although he tried to keep his face neutral, something must have shown for Wildner abruptly dropped his smile.

“Fuck, I’m an ass. I’m sorry Doc, that wasn’t intentional.”

Steve waved his hand, not trusting his voice to keep his hurt hidden.

Wildner still looked apologetic, but then turned contemplative.

“But on the other hand: try not to think about it. Just close your eyes and tell me the first color that comes to your mind. Those things are often unconscious anyway, so it might still buzz around in that head of yours – or wherever the subconscious is located.”

Confusion and hurt warred a small glimmer of hopeful excitement and for a moment, Steve wanted to refuse. It would only be more painful if he failed.

_But what do you have to lose? If you don’t remember, it won’t change anything, but what if you do?_  

What if he did…. It would only be one tiny piece of the puzzle that was his forgotten life, but it was at least one more piece of information. It would be more than he had now.

Subconsciously biting his lower in nervousness and feeling weird while doing it, Steve nonetheless closed his eyes and tried to think of a color he might like.

The word came easy.

“Blue.”

Steve opened his eyes only to find Wildner starring at him, face slack in surprise.

“Blue, really? That the first color you thought of?”

Steve nodded, suddenly feeling excitement rush through him. It had been there, hidden somewhere in the vast sea of nothingness, and it felt right. As if it were the correct answer to a test he hadn’t even been aware he been taking but instinctively knew the right reply for.

Wildner smiled again, apparently sensing Steve’s euphoria.

“Well, that’s great! And what kind? Dark or light?”

This time, he didn’t even have to close his eyes. There had been a flash of a picture when he had said the color, almost too brief to pin it down but Steve had recognized it immediately.

“You know lapis lazuli, the stone? A blue just like that.”

The look Wildner shot him was a bit baffled.

“That’s- oddly specific. But it’s certainly a beautiful shade.”

Steve grinned, absurdly proud about something that most people didn’t really pay much attention to. But to him, it mattered.

There had been something. Some real tie to his past, other than his medical knowledge, which frankly told him nothing other than his profession. Something personal.

It gave him hope that his amnesia might not be as severe as he had feared. Maybe he would remember his life after all.

Shaking off these thoughts, Steve noticed Wildner staring at him, a pensive look at his face. Before the doctor could say anything, the other man shook his head and grinned at him broadly.

“That’s great, man. See, I told you your subconscious remembers a lot more than you can access. I’m sure you’ll also remember how to procure that serum in no time.”

Way to dampen his mood.

Steve sighed, feeling his joy from just a moment ago recede a little.

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Tyrell’s already giving me a hard time because I’m taking too long.”

Glancing sideways, Steve concentrated on a fascinating crack running from the edge of the table to its center.

“It’s not like I’m not trying; I do, dammit. I might not remember the attack, but her description was certainly horrific enough. So of course, I wanna help. It’s just- it’s so frustrating! I know that the knowledge how I did it is there. It’s like- I can sense it swimming around in my brain, but I can’t fully grasp it. The solution is always moving out of reach, which trust me, drives me crazy. But Tyrell behaves like I’m doing it on purpose, as if I’m not fully committed. You should have heard her when she stormed out of the lab earlier.”

Steve bit his lip.

“Basically, blaming all further deaths on me.”

Steve glanced up again when he heard Wildner sigh, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I know the doctor can be- intense on occasion. She tends to demand too much from others, but also herself when she’s really invested in a project. It’s both an advantage and a disadvantage; it certainly makes her a great researcher, even if she can be somewhat unfair to others in the process. Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

Almost absentmindedly, he added, “She has her reasons. We all do.”

Steve sat up at that. So far, he didn’t know anything personal about the others and this provided almost an ideal opening to get to know at least one person a bit better.

“What’s your reason?”

Wildner looked up, clearly confused by the question.

“What?”

“For working on this project, for joining Starfleet and this department in particular- what’s your reason?”

For a moment, Steve thought the other man wouldn’t answer. It was a rather personal question after all. Wildner blinked at him, then rubbed a hand over his face before leaning back in his chair. His eyes wandered away from Steve’s face and adopted a faraway look, as if he took a trip down memory lane, maybe replaying his memories like an old movie in his mind.

“My mum was a Starfleet officer. I remember being a kid and always looking forward to new stories and adventures she had experienced out in space, meeting new peoples and establishing contact between them and the Federation. I didn’t see her in person very often, but whenever she was on shore leave she would bring me little presents from her journeys.”

Wildner smiled at that, the soft lines around his eyes and mouth momentarily disappearing and making him appear younger than his years.

“When I turned twelve, she decided that she had done her part for the Federation, that she would retire from active duty and ask for an assignment on Earth so that she could spend more time with her family. The ship she was stationed on was on its way back anyway, so it shouldn’t take too long for her to come home. I remember being over the moon by the news.”

And just like that, the smile on Wildner’s face turned into sadness, the one that had been carried around for years and didn’t bring any acute feelings of loss anymore but would forever be tinged in grief. A sadness that one became so accustomed to, you barely noticed it until its reason was mentioned again. 

Steve recognized it as the same emotion he had felt when Tyrell had told him about his father.

“There was an attack. Half the crew died, the other half managed to escape due to the captain sacrificing himself to protect the escaping shuttles. My mum wasn’t among the lucky ones that day.”

Steve saw Wildner swallow.

“When the doorbell rang, I thought it was my mum coming home. Instead I opened the door to two Starfleet officers, telling my dad and me that my mother had been killed in action.”

Now he looked directly at Steve, sadness having morphed into anger as he sat up straighter.

“Do you know how often I’ve had to do the same since I joined the Fleet? Ten times. Ten times I visited the families of people working under me who didn’t make it home. Sometimes it was because of an accident while working on the engines, sometimes it was due to attacks. The result was always the same. My coming always brought the end to the way their life had been until the second they opened the door.

I joined Starfleet to be closer to my mother. I thought by following in her steps, I could honor her and keep her memory alive with me.

I joined Section 31 because Starfleet wasn’t enough. At some point, I wanted to prevent death before it happened. The attack on the ship my mum had been on, the Kelvin, had been carried out by an enemy ship, better equipped and controlled by someone whose only aim was destruction and demise. The Kelvin never stood a chance.

Starfleet is a peace-keeping armada. I joined on those principles but over time, I realized that it placed us in a disadvantage if others didn’t abide to those rules. Section 31 seemed the ideal solution to my new goals. I would do whatever it takes to spare other families the pain I had to go through when I was a kid.”

Wildner looked at Steve, the fierceness in his gaze mixing with something else, something Steve couldn’t quite decipher as the other man just looked at him while the rage seemed to drain out of him.

“Whatever it takes”, he murmured again before leaning back again, gaze drifting from Steve’s face to the floor.

Steve found himself somewhat at a loss as to what to reply. After all, what could you tell someone who had given their whole life to the memory of a loved one? The burden of the dead could be a difficult one, no matter what it looked like. Steve felt for the kid that had lost his mother at such a young age and for the man sitting before him, still letting his mother’s death dictate his moves. It was a noble cause, for sure, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that it had demanded many sacrifices from the man.

He coughed which seemed to shake Wildner from his thoughts.

“And then the Klingon attacks happened.”

For a moment, Wildner looked at him in confusion, apparently too caught up in his memories. Then recognition flittered across his face.

“Right. Then the Klingon attacks happened. And there was more death than I’ve ever seen before. And there’s likely more to come as we’re heading into a full-blown war with the Klingon Empire. And for now, our hope is placed on a doctor with amnesia who is asked to do the impossible by reviving the one man capable of seeing us through this war victoriously.”

Steve swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Way to add some pressure.”

Wildner’s look remained serious.

“These are difficult times. It wouldn’t do to mince my words just to make you feel better, Doctor.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. It was the truth after all.

Steve reclined in his chair, eyes drifting up towards the ceiling. It was an awful responsibility. Being made the sole key figure in the wake of an upcoming war. Well, not entirely, but at least the only means to reach the key, which was the revival of Admiral Sucram.

But Wilder’s story had brought something to his attention. Being a doctor, he naturally wanted to prevent death; Steve didn’t need his memories to know that. And in this drive to protect, he understood the other man when he had said that he would do whatever it took to achieve this goal.

Steve recognized this feeling. A desperate need to succeed, an urge to achieve one outcome while everything else moved to the background, lost its meaning. The full conviction to do whatever necessary, damn any consequences. Steve knew this feeling, felt it reverberate through him. But only as a shadow. An echo of the true emotion he had once felt. An emotional reference to a point in his past that had been defined by only this desire.

And it was missing. Right now, in this moment, when he thought of producing this thrice-damned serum, he felt nothing of the sort, nothing of what he could see in Wildner’s devotion to the project, to Section 31. Steve wanted to help, wanted to create it in order to save innocent beings. But for whatever reason he didn’t burn with conviction, wasn’t consumed by it.

Steve rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe if he could remember the attacks it would be different. Maybe his emotions were as screwed as his memories.

Glancing at Wildner, Steve pressed his lips together. Maybe he wasn’t as convinced as Wildner, but he could do it for him. As long as Steve’s judgment was impaired by his amnesia, he could base his motivations on Wildner’s urge to protect, to help.

To do whatever it took.

It would have to be enough for now.

Getting up from his chair, Steve looked down at the other man and smiled crookedly.

“Well, then I better get back to work. That serum’s not gonna develop itself.”

Steve was motivated, determined when he went back into the lab.

Roughly twenty-four hours later, five of which had been spent restlessly tossing and turning in his bed, he was back to frustration. The damn cells simply weren’t doing what he needed them to do in order to fulfil their purpose of reviving, but not entirely changing a dead organism. At least Tyrell wasn’t keeping him company today; he really wasn’t up to another fight. He was agitated enough as it was.

Steve was just contemplating the latest results of his tests, when there was a muffled boom, followed by a loud crash somewhere above his head.

Up until this point, Steve had kept the worry about a new attack somewhere at the back of his mind. A distant possibility, but nothing tangible, nothing to really concern himself with.

Within the blink of an eye, the thought had morphed into a concrete threat, from abstract worry to real fear as the adrenaline pumped through his body and made his heart race, his muscles poised for an attack. Ready to strike, ready to run.

Willing his body to forcibly relax, Steve slowly got up, his eyes never leaving the door.

Somehow, he had expected more noise in the case of an attack. A red light signaling an intrusion, an obnoxious sound piercing the air and setting everyone even more on edge. People shouting. Instead, it was eerily quiet.

In some way, that was even more agitating.

Minutes went by. There was nothing.

Steve felt his heart slow down and his muscles relax as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Maybe it had just been an accident within the facility. Maybe one of the other, technical projects had malfunctioned.

There were sounds in the distance. Muffled voices. Steps. Footsteps coming closer with every second ticking by. Steve’s heart jumped into his throat, blocking his airway as he became acutely aware of everything. The sweat on his palms. The goosebumps rising on his forearms. The cold shudder gliding down his spine.

Looking around, gaze jumping from one object to next, Steve just managed to grab a pen, the sharpest thing he could spot on his desk in a hurry – and why the hell wasn’t there anything sharper and more weaponlike in the lab for situations just like that?! – before he turned around at the hiss of the door, pen in front of him as a pathetic weapon.

“Dammit Centrich! You just gave me a heart attack! I thought you were a Klingon, ready to cut me to pieces.”

The relief at seeing the other man left Steve shaky for a moment and he grabbed for the back of his chair.

Centrich on the other hand didn’t look at ease at all. On the contrary, the man appeared even more serious than usual, a rush in every move and facial expression a mask of tension.

Come to think of it, the two phasers in his hand weren’t particularly confidence inspiring either.

Steve swallowed.

Apparently, the noises from above hadn’t been from a malfunction.

In long strides, Centrich crossed the distance between them, one phaser held out towards Steve like an offering. On instinct, Steve grabbed it.

“It’s not the Klingons.”

The other man’s face was pale, but Steve could see the disgust on his face.

“It’s traitors. Human mercenaries who put their own financial gain over any feeling of belonging. Despite the Klingons’ attack on Earth, this scum still collaborates with them. Guess they’d do everything for money, even kill their own people. They are here to support the Klingons, to weaken the human resistance which means sabotaging this project.”

Pressing the phaser even firmer into his hand, Centrich’s grey-blue eyes bored themselves into Steve’s, serious and calm but for one underlying emotion. It was barely there, barely recognizable, but for a moment Steve thought the other looked almost- gleeful.

“I’ve got to leave, I need to get on my post and with luck we’ll push them back before they reach you. But if someone other than us comes through this door, you shoot. No questions asked, no talking, just shoot. It’s gonna depend on who’s the fastest shot and they certainly won’t stop for a chat. So, you need to be quicker, Doctor.”

Oh.

It really hadn’t been an accident with one of the other projects. It was an attack. A real attack.

Steve felt it difficult to draw breath.

Without thinking, his fingers closed around the weapon. It was cool, smooth. Light. Efficient.

The goosebumps were back in full effect while a vile taste collected in his mouth. He felt nauseous.

Unable to respond, Steve only jerked his head up and down stiffly.

Centrich’s hand landed on his shoulder, heavy rather than reassuring.

“We’ll try to keep them from you. But be prepared to defend yourself.”

With those words, Centrich turned around and, with one unreadable look back, left the room.

Steve sat down on the chair. Objectively, he knew that he should take position. Should find a spot where he was covered and could easily shoot at the first person entering the lab.

Distantly, Steve thought that he should feel more afraid. That there should be fear rushing through his body, flight instinct urging him to run. And there was some distant feeling of it, a faint flutter of panic. But far stronger was the feeling of resolve, getting stronger with every breath he took.

He could do this. He had once been trained in Starfleet, had learned how to use a phaser. The memories of his instructions might be gone, but the instinctive knowledge, the procedural memory would still be intact.

He was able to defend himself.

Exhaling loudly one last time, Steve got up and looked around the room. There wasn’t much to take cover, but if he crouched right next to the desk, he wouldn’t immediately be visible to any intruder. It might provide him with the few additional seconds he needed to assure his advantage.

Forcing down the thought of what it meant if he was the first to shoot – killing. He would kill someone – Steve took up his position.

Then he waited.

The seconds seemed to stretch longer than usual, minutes dragging like hours. There was silence. Silence only broken by the rush of his blood through his ears, the beating of his heart.

The sound of phaser fire in the distance.

Steve felt his mouth go dry. He gripped the weapon even harder, sweaty palm a contrast to the metal, warm in his hand by now.

Silence again. Distant voices.

And finally, steps. Steps coming closer in his direction, halting here and there as if their owner paused in between to look into other rooms, but never stopping.

Until they did, right when they had been the loudest, in front of the door separating his lab from the corridor.

Steve closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.

Then he pointed the phaser at the door.

There was the usual hiss when the door slid open. From his hiding spot, Steve wasn’t able to see much. The shapes of the two beings who had entered the room were definitely humanoid, both wearing the same kind of clothing, a grey uniform. Steve couldn’t see their faces but that wasn’t necessary: He could see the drawn phasers in their hands well enough.

Inhale. Exhale.

Steve aimed carefully and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all agree that this is the perfect point to end this chapter ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this update, let me know what you think! <3


	8. This feeling is not sadness, this feeling is not joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, first of all, I'm so sorry that it has taken me so long to finish this chapter! The last part took me ages to finish as it is a rather important scene and then there were suddenly two versions and I couldn't decide which one I liked better! My brilliant beta finally came up with the marvellous idea to simply combine the two, so you have her to thank for the ending you get in this chapter! ^^
> 
> Also, thanks a lot to everyone who left a comment on the last chapter and/or kudos, it really means so much to me to read your reactions and opinions on the story, so thank you! <3
> 
> With that said, lengthy chapter and Angst-galore ahead ;)

_You're gone, gone, gone away; I watched you disappear_

_All that's left is a ghost of you_

_Now we're torn, torn, torn apart; there's nothing we can do_

_Just let me go, we'll meet again soon_

Of Monsters and Men, “Little Talks”

 

The good thing, Jim thought, about going to bed after you completely exhausted yourself in the gym was that sheer tiredness put you to sleep rather quickly, no matter the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions trying their best to keep you awake. The bad thing was that three hours of sleep didn’t exactly qualify as sufficient rest and his sore muscles reminded him just how bad an idea it had been to push himself so recklessly the night before.

Jim groaned when he rolled to the side, his entire body stiff and aching, his eyes so dry that it was almost painful to keep them open. It was still dark outside and when he squinted at the digital clock on his bedside table it displayed that it was only four thirty in the morning.

Fuck. He needed coffee and a hot shower to even remotely function. Possibly the other way around, but definitely those two.

His gaze drifted past the clock and to the book lying on the bedside table. It belonged to Bones, an old classic from the 20th century he had lent to Jim after he had complained one too many times about not having anything worthwhile to read. Jim had taken it with him when he had temporarily moved into Uhura’s and Spock’s guest room, needing some link to his missing friend.

Bones was coming home. Finally, after seven days of not knowing, of constant worry, they would bring him back.

Taking a deep breath, Jim sat up abruptly, grunting as his abs and arms protested the movement.

“Lights, fifty percent.”

Squinting against the sudden brightness, Jim gingerly got up and shuffled to the bathroom. Ordering on the lights there as well, he quickly undressed and ordered the temperature of the shower to a pleasant warmth.  

The spray hitting his muscles was a relief, releasing at least some of the tension. Jim had ordered on the water rather than the sonic – while the later might fulfil its purpose of getting him clean, it certainly hadn’t the same effect as warm water to soothe his aches and wake him up – and although he didn’t dawdle too long so as to not waste too much of the water ration, he still took his time. There was nothing like a shower in the morning, especially when you had to get up at an ungodly hour.

Once he was finished, Jim quickly dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his room. He could hear quiet noises coming from the kitchen and there was a soft glimmer of light emanating from its general direction. The scent of coffee slowly drifted down the corridor and Jim swore he felt already more awake just from the smell.

Stepping into his room, he picked up the standard dark grey uniform Spock had brought with him, one most Fleet members usually didn’t have at home. It was the one usually favored for incognito missions. When remaining undetected as long as possible and nothing to point directly back at Starfleet was a priority. The later wasn’t really an issue for this mission obviously, but there was no knowing what kind of surveillance the fugitives had in their hideout.

Because, to make this absolute clusterfuck even worse, of course they had to be hiding in one of Section 31’s secret locations Starfleet hadn’t even known about yet. Probably because it just had to be among the files that had been deleted before the entire organization got busted. Which meant that they had no idea what to expect. The agents could have any kind of technology at their hands, any kind of weapons, apart from the equipment they had stolen. Therefore, so as to not endanger the hostage’s life even more, they had to remain unnoticed as long as possible.

_The hostage’s life._

Jim had to swallow as he remembered the official wording of the strategic plans for today Spock had shown him.

Bones’ life. It was Bones’ life at risk. Bones who could be killed if they made but one mistake. Bones who might already be dead if his abductors had gotten what they wanted. Bones who had been taken because of what he had done for Jim.

He had to close his eyes against the sudden burn, pressing his forehead against the cooling glass of the wardrobe mirror in front of him. The raw fear clawing at his throat made his heart race, streaming through his entire body and leaving him shaky and weak.

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t or he would lose his mind, right here and now.

Taking a shuddering breath, he straightened and looked at his reflection.

Determination needed to be his guiding emotion. Determination had driven Jim into the warp core, ready to die for his crew. Determination had given Bones the strength to bring him back to life. It was the energy Jim needed today, the only thing he would allow himself to feel. Pulsing from the center of his chest and spreading to his entire body like a warm drink after too much time spent in the freezing cold, pushing back the ashy taste of fear.

It would help him bring his friend home safely.

Turning away, he quickly changed into his uniform and, picking up his communicator on his way out, went towards the kitchen.

To his surprise, it wasn’t Spock filling a second cup of steaming coffee when he entered the room.

It was Uhura, dressed in her red uniform, hair tied back into the same high ponytail she usually favored. Altogether, not a single hair seemed out of place as she carried herself with the same elegance as ever, no indication of the early hour noticeable in her demeanor.

Jim had no idea how she did that while he felt like a sleepwalking zombie.

Seeing her forced a kaleidoscope of memories of yesterday evening’s events to the forefront of Jim’s mind: of broken dishes lying on the floor, hateful words tearing out of his throat and the usually confident expression of Lieutenant Uhura turned into ashen shock.

He stopped abruptly in his tracks, pulling her attention from the coffeepot to him.

Slowly, the pot was lowered and placed aside as she regarded him.

Jim swallowed.

How had it been easier to apologize to his Vulcan first officer than to Uhura?

Clearing his throat, Jim started, “Nyota, I’m so sorry! I…” before she interrupted him with a shake of her head.

“No, Jim. Not now. I know you have been hurting because of Leonard but what you said to Spock yesterday… I want to talk about it, and I think that talk deserves more time than just in passing.”

She sighed, briefly glancing down and picking up one of the two mugs.

“I know Spock has given his forgiveness already, and you’ll get mine eventually, but not now. Spock wouldn’t hold a grudge against you if it could impact your working relationship, but I have no such qualms. He doesn’t express his hurt because it isn’t logical to do so, so I need to do it for him.”

She smiled slightly.

“Call it the prerogative of the girlfriend.”

A punch in the gut would have hurt less than the impact her words had on Jim.

“I’m so sorry.”

Uhura nodded.

“I know. But you really hurt him, even if he doesn’t tell you.”

“I hurt you too.”

Because he had. Some of the things he had said must have been just as hurtful for her. Not to mention that she was obviously hurting for Spock.

Uhura calmly looked at him.

“You have. And we will talk about it, and next time you’ll do better. But today is about Leonard. Today is about bringing him home and you need to focus on that, not worry about what happened yesterday.”

Picking up the second cup of coffee, she handed it to him and when she smiled this time, it actually reached her eyes.

“We will be fine eventually.”

There was a lump in his throat, obstructing his voice. Jim took a sip of his coffee, the hot liquid burning on its way down.

“Thank you.”

Uhura waved her hand, turning back towards the water boiler and pouring hot water over some tea leaves. Jim caught the scent of some flavor Spock preferred to drink in the morning.

Jim took another sip of coffee and felt how the drowsiness slowly gave way to something resembling fully awake and alert.

It took him almost half of the cup before he realized what was wrong with the picture of Uhura in her uniform standing in their kitchen.

“Why are you awake already and in uniform? Did they change the working hours at the Linguistics department?”

Uhura snorted, rolling her eyes as she turned back to him.

“Our working hours remained the same, no worries. I’ll accompany you and Spock over to headquarters and oversee communication during the mission. Chekov, Scotty and Sulu will probably be there too, just in case there’s some way they can help from here; Admiral Henry didn’t want to many of the Enterprise crew in the ‘Recover’ team.”

The lump in his throat was back and Jim felt something soft melt inside his chest. His face must have shown some emotion because Uhura’s expression softened.

“He’s our friend as well, Jim. We might not have been as frenzy with worry like you, but we care about him just as you do.”

A smirk slowly crept on her face.

“Or maybe not exactly. I don’t think the rest of us are as smitten with him as you are.”

And of course, that was the moment Spock entered the kitchen, leaving Jim to flush bright red and sputter indignantly.

They left shortly after, the coffee finally having fulfilled its promise of turning Jim into a real human being. His body was still sore, but Jim pushed it to the back of his mind. He had handled far worse.

The floors on the ground were still quiet when they entered headquarters. Most personnel still had some hours of sleep before they had to be on duty.

Reaching the meeting room was a stark contrast to the calm of the early hour covering the rest of the campus. At least a double of a dozen people was already inside the room, chatting amongst each other, pointing at one document or another on the PADDs in their hands.

With a brief squeeze to Jim’s arm and a fond smile for Spock, Uhura told them goodbye, then wandered over to a human man and a female Andorian. Jim kept his gaze on them for a while, absentmindedly watching the conversation between them when a loud cough brought all talking in the room to a halt.  

There was silence, every face turning to Admiral Henry who stood at the front of the room, looking at all of them, brows drawn together and lines around his mouth tense.

“Gentlemen, Gentlewomen. You know your mission. You have all been debriefed on the four fugitives. I don’t think I have to remind any of you how important it is to not let any of them escape.”

The admiral paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Jim.

Jim felt his heart miss a beat.

“I also won’t have to remind you that these prisoners have taken a hostage, one of our own. Lieutenant Commander McCoy has been abducted one week ago and there has been no sign of life since.  Due to surveillance footage we received, you are to act on the belief that he is still alive. As we don’t know which condition he will be in, medical personnel will accompany you.”

Another pause. Henry licked his lips, then pressed them together.

Jim’s stomach was tying itself up in a knot.

“Saving McCoy is important. However,”

Jim’s breath got caught in his throat.

_However?_

“However, you first mission is to detain these rogue agents. Not only is their agenda in complete contrast to Starfleet, but they are heavily armed, making them an imminent threat to Starfleet and, potentially, the entire Federation. Taking them in has absolute priority. Above everything.”

There was a rushing in Jim’s head, all persistent. Like static. His chest was tightening, crushing his lungs, his heart.

One moment he was hot, then there were goosebumps, rising on his arms, driplets of icy water running down his spine.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, because they couldn’t… what Henry was saying meant…

 _Above everything._ Above saving Bones. Saving Bones’ life.

A hand grasped his wrist, squeezing it comfortingly, warningly. Jim looked to his right.

Spock was standing close to him, eyes looking straight ahead at the admiral. His face was as passive as always, only some small lines on his brow indicating that he appeared bothered by what the other man had been saying. Glancing sideways, Spock seemed to make certain that he had garnered Jim’s attention, then he shook his head.

Jim closed his mouth.

“Take care and when possible, bring our man home. Dismissed.”

 _When possible. Henry really needed to brush up his skills on motivational speeches,_ Jim thought, feeling shaky and lightheaded. He turned towards his first officer as people around them started to move towards the exit, a soft murmur of voices floating through the room.

“Spock. Care to explain what that was?”

The Vulcan still looked at the admiral, who had turned towards Admiral Cartwright standing somewhat to the side until this point, and started to talk to the other admiral quietly.

“It appears, Captain, that the commander-in-chief is not prepared to ‘take any chances’, as you would say, and is willing to sacrifice Doctor McCoy should there be no other option. In case the fugitives are – hostile upon our arrival and take the good doctor as hostage a second time.”

“To use him as a shield, you mean.”

Spock inclined his head.

Nausea made his stomach twist and Jim had to clench his fists to keep himself from shaking the Vulcan. Swallowing, Jim forced down the panicked rage crawling up his throat.

“I know you two love to bicker, but I know he’s just as much your friend as he’s mine. So, I’m all open for suggestions, Mister Spock.”

The other raised his eyebrow. Jim really wished Vulcans would allow themselves at least one more facial expression; interpreting this one was getting tiresome after a while.

“We will make sure that these prisoners are placed in custody and won’t present a danger to anyone from now on, Captain. However, if we were to set our priorities differently, such as to ensure that the doctor remains unharmed during the operation – I have calculated the risk of endangering the arrest of the agents due to this priority shift of only two people to be 7.43%, which is unfortunate but still within an acceptable margin. Likewise, the chances of the doctor’s survival will increase by 44.78% if two of the twenty officers on this mission focus entirely on his retrieval rather than on the fugitives’ apprehension. It is therefore only logical if we ascertain that the Enterprise will not be in need of a new chief medical officer on our next tour.”   

Relief was flooding Jim’s body, making him almost giddy. Knowing that Spock wouldn’t really appreciate a hug, especially in public, he settled for a tight squeeze of the other’s shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan, Mister Spock. Let’s go!”

And with a pat on the Vulcan’s shoulder, Jim turned and followed the last of the other officers towards the hangar.

The two shuttles that would take them to the hideout were already prepared when they reached them. Jim had wondered why they didn’t simply use a transporter, but Spock had argued that they would need medical equipment close by in case someone got injured and they didn’t know if beaming inside the facility would be an option – there was the possibility that Section 31 might have installed a device to block beaming directly in- or outside their buildings.

Sitting down, Jim barely had time to close the safety harness before the shuttle’s engines were started, its doors closed, and a gentle thrust propelled them forward. Seemed as if he and Spock had been the last two.

The journey towards their destination didn’t take long, maybe five minutes. To Jim, these minutes felt endless. It was enough time to consider any possible situation they could encounter.

Of Bones being used as human shields against them, being shot by an overeager Fleet officer who regarded the doctor’s life worth the arrest of the agents.

Of Bones being killed in front of Jim’s eyes by one of the fugitives.

Bones being already dead when they arrived, his empty eyes condemning Jim as too little, too late. Not enough.

Jim had never wished for a journey to be over, yet fear its end at the same time.

The building they arrived at was an old warehouse in the district Jim and Sulu had been in the previous day. They had been a couple of streets away, hadn’t even walked past this particular building, but to Jim the sight of the rundown structure, its empty windows looking at them like dark chasms inside a mountain face, felt like a mocking reminder of his inadequacy. Maybe if he had done something different the other day, if they had looked here, they could have found Bones one day earlier.

The streets were mostly empty, only a few people walking down the sidewalk on their way to work or wherever the had to be at this early hour. Most made a wide berth around the Fleet personnel pouring out of the shuttle, eyes averted to the ground, but some stopped for a moment to appreciate the break of their tedious everyday routine, gawking curiously.

Since Jim didn’t have any authority on this mission, apart from the official order “Catch the bad guys” and his more private goal “Save Bones”, he remained close to Spock, trying not to be in the way to give no one any reason to make him stay with the shuttles. Moving with the others, phasers drawn, they moved towards the entrance and on the signal of the commander in charge, Commander Hughes, they opened the door.

The area before them was deserted, only a few old machines having been left behind when the warehouse had been closed down, apparently not valuable enough to be used or stolen. The air was chilly and musty, carrying the smell of a building abandoned for a long time.

For a moment there was only silence, their breathing the only discernible sound.

“Are we sure that traitor gave us the right address?”

A young lieutenant had lowered his phaser and looked around, seemingly annoyed that the former agents weren’t already waiting for them.

Hughes shot him a look and he hastily adapted his stance back to vigilant attention.

“Swarm out, scan the building. I’m pretty sure Section 31 wouldn’t have their _secret hideout_ ”, and here she shot another look at the lieutenant, “open for anyone to find who might walk in here. Look for hidden rooms, something underground. They must be here.”

Mumbling among themselves, everyone took out the hand scanner attached to their hips, pointing it towards the walls or the ground.

It didn’t take long until some shout of “Over here” brought them all towards the back of the warehouse. In front of a small niche, obscured partly by empty crates and stray materials, Jim saw one of the lieutenants from engineering kneel in front of a panel.

“The scans showed some anomalies here, indicating an empty space that’s not noted on the layout. The panel’s been hidden but someone must have done it in a haste or was sloppy, it wasn’t too difficult to find.”

She looked towards Hughes and pointed towards the wall next to her.

“I suppose there could be a lift behind, panel here belongs to one anyway. You could start looking for a way to open it, in case I can’t hack into it or set off an alarm. Just to be safe, ya know?”

Hughes nodded, then waved two other officers to her, mumbling something to them that Jim couldn’t understand. Nodding, they moved towards the wall, one already starting to rummage in one of the bags he had carried.

Jim felt alternately hot and cold, his stomach one tight knot of nerves as he found himself gnawing on his bottom lip. He felt Spock’s gaze on his face, yet he ignored him, letting his eyes wander between the lieutenant and the two officers.

It couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes when the lieutenant swore. Hughes stepped next to her, raising an eyebrow at the colorful language.

“Well, I got as far as I could, but I can’t get past the iris scan to open the stupid door! Once the door is open, we should be able to operate the lift without any further identification of the sort, but anything else I do will set off an alarm and would give them too early a warning.”

Hughes nodded, then turned towards the two security officers.

“How far are we with an alternative?”

One of them, an older Andorian, gestured towards the construction they had attached to the wall. It looked like a miniature explosive.

Jim’s gut gave a twist. So much for subtlety and the element of surprise.

“The wall’s too thick to open it without creating any form of noise that might be heard below. The fastest way to do it, giving them the smallest possible window to react would be to fabricate a concentrated explosion to blast it. Provided that we can access the lift behind immediately; the wall here’s a secret door meant to disguise and protect the cabin behind, so the lift shouldn’t be destroyed – much.”

Hughes pressed her lips together and Jim could see the tension building inside her from the way her shoulders drew slightly towards her neck. He had a tendency to do the same.

She turned back towards the engineering lieutenant.

“Can you access the lift from outside so that we could immediately use it once the wall’s broken down?”

The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Give me a minute.”

Turning back to the panel, she fumbled with it some more, Jim unable to see as her back obscured his direct view.

“Ready, mam.”

Jim could see Hughes hesitate but for a moment. He could guess what went through her head. All the possible alternatives, every outcome if she gave that order. The pros and cons and which outweighed the other. The same thoughts running through his head whenever a mission had turned sour and he needed to find a way to keep as many as possible of his crew save.

Hughes was good, Jim readily admitted that. There was no alternative, no other way she could follow her orders with the lowest possible risk towards the hostage.

Didn’t mean that he had to like the few minutes the agents would have to their advantage.

“Alright everyone, move back.  Lieutenant Ch'thesreq, Lieutenant Harrigson, ready when you are.”

The explosion wasn’t very loud. It was as the lieutenants had said, it had been detained and only created a big enough rift so that they could push aside the door.

But it had certainly been audible to anyone in or underneath the warehouse.

The rush of adrenaline through him, making everything seem enhanced, more in focus, was familiar as they moved into the lift cabin, big enough to carry ten at a time. Jim didn’t even think to question in which team he would be in as he stepped inside the small lift cage.

Jim tightened the grip around his phaser as the elevator began to move agonizingly slowly towards the ground, the smooth metal warm in his hands. When the doors opened in front of them, he was prepared for everything. An ambush, the four agents already waiting for them and ready to attack. A torture chamber. A lab.

Instead the lift lead into a hallway, walls a pasty white and doors leading away to the left and right. It was eerie quiet. No voices or footsteps. Only the buzzing of some form of engine hidden behind one of the doors.

Hughes gestured the others to wait, then she turned towards Spock and Jim.

“Commander Spock, as far as I’m concerned Captain Kirk is your responsibility during this mission. You know our orders. The fugitives are to be arrested at all costs.”

Her eyes moved towards Jim.

“But I know Doctor McCoy is part of your crew. He’s a member of Starfleet and as far as I’m concerned, we do whatever it takes to bring our people home. So, while I will instruct everyone else to look for the agents foremost – and keep an eye open for the doctor should they find him, of course – your orders are to look for McCoy only and to ensure his safety.”

She looked back to Spock.

“Any questions, Commander?”

Should Hughes ever consider a change in career and want to serve on a starship, Jim would offer her a post in a heartbeat. He could use people like her, loyal, dutybound but willing to bend the rules when necessary.   

Spock inclined his head.

“Understood, Commander Hughes.”

She nodded, then gestured for everyone to move out.

With one short side glance at Jim, Spock started walking down the corridor and Jim had no other choice but to follow him.

Distantly Jim was aware of the other team members pairing up as well and entering the rooms to their left and right, but his eyes were focused on Spock who seemed to have made a choice as to which door to open first. After a brief fuss at the control panel the door swished open.

The room behind appeared mostly empty if it weren’t for the chair, standing in the center, leather restraints hanging down from its sides as if someone had moved out of them just a moment ago. Waiting for its next occupant.

Looking at it, Jim felt like an ice bucket had been emptied over his head. Cold panic slid slowly down his body like slimy goo, images of what exactly such a chair could be used for gnawing at the edge of his mind, trying to seep through. Visions of Bones in the chair, straining against the leather cutting into his skin…

Spock’s hand on his shoulder raised him from his stupor, lips pressed to a thin line hinting at his own worries towards the chair and its use.

“Captain. We don’t know if Doctor McCoy was even in this room. The facility might be bigger than expected so it is possible that he has been held somewhere else entirely. It is illogical to imagine situations that may not even have taken place without any proof of their occurrence.”

Jim took in a breath, his throat tight and painful at the rush of air.

“Yeah, I- You’re right, Spock. Maybe he wasn’t even here.”

_But maybe he was._

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Walking around the room, phasers always at the ready, they didn’t find much else. A machine of some sort with electrodes attached to it, lying carelessly next to it on a small shelf. Jim refused to think about it any further, steadfastly pushing down any potential scenarios flaring up in his mind.

They moved on, passing through another room before stumbling into a kitchen area. There was an empty, used mug in the sink, coffee smudges still smearing the edge. Not unsimilar to the one Jim himself had left behind just two hours ago, at the apartment. To find such an everyday object here, in the middle of an operation meant to take down potential terrorists felt strangely surreal. Somehow it made them more – real, more relatable. As if there were actual humans behind the pictures they had been shown that morning, so very long ago.  

A week. It had only been a week.

A phaser shot in the distance had both Jim and Spock turn around at the same time, weapons instinctively raised in defense.

There was no one there.

Spock lowered his first.

“I suggest we proceed, Captain.”

Nodding, Jim lowered his phaser as well and then they were moving again. Through an arch, leading to another corridor with doors leading away to the left. It had such an uncanny resemblance to the first hallway they had entered that Jim momentarily questioned whether they somehow had moved in a circle before he realized the difference to before: Most of the doors here stood already open, black windows in the sickly white walls. Only one was closed.

They still had to check the dark rooms; just because they were open, didn’t mean they couldn’t be used as concealments, but after a quick search, all of them were as they appeared – empty. It didn’t take them long to force open the one door that had been closed and once they were inside, Jim got the distinct impression that they may have finally found something.

It was a lab, medical research equipment Jim had seen often enough in either med bay or one of the science labs on the Enterprise laid out on desks or locked away in cabinets. The light had been turned on when they had entered and at least one of the technical devices was humming quietly, a familiar, almost soothing background noise. As if someone had stepped out for only a moment.

Hoisting his phaser a bit higher, Jim recognized the familiar tingle at the back of his mind as his senses screaming at him that this was different to earlier, that there was someone in here watching them. He was about to open his mouth to introduce themselves as Starfleet when he caught a flicker of something to his left.

A reflection, a shadow.

As if someone had moved while simultaneously trying to remain hidden.

There was a split second. A second in which he was hit with the comprehension what that meant, in which he turned his body to the side and slammed into Spock, crashing them both to the ground.

A phaser shot sailed over their heads, through the space where Spock had been standing, would have been standing if Jim hadn’t pushed him aside.

The long familiar rush of adrenaline had his heart beating almost painfully fast in his chest, all senses sharpened as Jim turned on his back, phaser pointed towards the desk where the shot had come from.

“This is James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise. We’re Starfleet and whoever you are, if you lay down your weapons no harm will come to you and you’ll receive a fair trial.”

From his position on the ground, Jim could see the outline of a foot, peeking out from behind the desk. Glancing briefly at Spock, he gestured the Vulcan to stay put. Let the other think that he had hit him, it could work to their advantage in an opportune moment.

There was a rustling of clothes as if someone tried to adjust their position.

A snort.

“Yeah, right. You’re Starfleet. Nice try, how stupid do you think I am?”

For a moment, Jim felt like he had received a punch to the solar plexus, breath taken away in an instant. Feeling all fight drain from him like a waterfall, pouring out of every muscle, Jim lowered his phaser and stemmed himself up on suddenly shaky arms.

The words didn’t make any sense, but the voice…

He would recognize it anywhere.

“Bones?!”

It was barely more than a rasping sound, his throat suddenly filled with glass and sand, and he had to swallow against the pain.  

Another noise from the direction of the desk.

“What the… What bones? You hit your head during that fall?”

It had to be a trick. This didn’t make any sense, it was Bones’ voice but his words- he truly sounded as if he didn’t know what Jim was talking about. As if he didn’t recognize him.

It had to be a trick.

Biting his lip, Jim pointed his phaser at the desk again.

“I don’t know what kind of ploy you’re playing, but I’m not interested. Show yourself.”

A laugh, incredulous.

“Right, so that you can shoot me? I don’t think so.”

“We’re Starfleet, we don’t kill people just for fun. That’s more your style.”

“Fuckin’ stop lying to me! If you do, at least come up with a more credible one. We are Starfleet, so why the heck should I fall for your ruse?!”

 _What the…?_  

This really didn’t add up. The person talking sounded like they honestly believed their words. That or they were an exceptionally good liar. And why did they sound like Bones? How could Section 31 have copied his voice so well?

A thought struck Jim and he breathed easier at the new idea.

“Look, I don’t know who you are- Centrich, Simril or Wildner? I’m assuming you aren’t Tyrell, that voice modification wouldn’t work so well on her, so whoever you are, it’s over. Starfleet officers are searching the entire facility as we speak and they will find your partners. But maybe you can get a head start, get a better deal if you cooperate. Where’s Doctor McCoy?”

There was a brief silence after that, and Jim shot Spock a quick glance. The Vulcan had moved into a crouch, out of sight to the person behind the desk even should they stand up, so he was ready for a surprise attack should they need it.

“Fuck you, keep your deal to yourself. Seriously, how can you do that? Betray your own people, work with the Klingons to kill innocents?”

The venom in the voice was new and it was real. Once again laced with a conviction hinting at the true belief behind the words.

Jim furrowed his brow. The briefing hadn’t said anything about one of the agents being prone to illusions or the kind. Even Section 31, those most loyal to Marcus couldn’t believe that the rest of the Fleet was actively working with the Klingons. Could they?

God, but it hurt to hear those accusations in Bones’ voice, even if it wasn’t truly him.

“I- don’t know what you’re talking about. No one is working with the Klingons.”

Jim heaved a sigh, he really had enough of this charade.

“Listen, we both know it’s over, so fucking stop that stupid game you’re playing and get rid of the fucking voice modification. You can’t manipulate me by using this voice.”

The silence that followed his statement was longer and for a moment Jim hoped that they would finally relent.

“What- what voice modification? That is my voice, why would you- why do you say it’s modified?”

Insecurity mixed with forced confidence as they spoke again, and Jim snapped.

This had to be a trick. Whatever they might have done to him, Bones would have always recognized Jim, no matter the state he was in, so this couldn’t be anything but a plot by one of the fugitives, trying to manipulate Jim to lower his guard.

“Fine, fuck, you know what, I’ll put down my phaser if you at least step in front of the desk. I need to see your face, I’m done playing.”

Spock could shoot the asshole once they had a clear look on him.

“Alright. Put your phaser down first.”

To be honest, Jim hadn’t really expected the other to still uphold his charade. But it finally got them somewhere, so he slowly put his phaser to the ground, still within reach but out of sight for now.

“I’ve put it down, so your turn. Show yourself.”

Clothes were rustling again, and Jim swore he heard a faint crack, as if tendons and joints had stayed too long in one position.

The frame emerging from behind the desk was masculine, dressed in inconspicuous clothing, a grey pullover hugging broad shoulders, blue jeans hanging from slim hips. The brown hair was slightly unkempt, as if its owner had brushed through it repeatedly. Even before he turned, Jim knew who it was.

He felt as if the ground slid away under him, didn’t understand what this meant, how this could be possible.

“Bones?”

Jim knew that the desperation in his voice was obvious, saw it in the flinch on Bones’ face at the sound. But apart from that, there was nothing in his friend’s mimic that suggested any recognition, any feelings towards him. Only distrust.

“Seriously, what is it with you and bones? What kind of bones are you talking about?”

It was this moment that Jim couldn’t deny the truth anymore. Despite all the scenarios that had run through his head this entire week, Jim hadn’t really, fully believed that something permanent, something drastic could have been done to his friend. Maybe they would have banged him up, gave him a solid beating. Jim would have hunted them down for every finger they had ever laid on Bones but in the end, he had expected his friend to be waiting for his rescue, hurt but grumbling about what took them so long when they finally freed him.

He wasn’t prepared for this, the look of a stranger staring at him through the eyes of his best friend. Looking at him without any recollection of what that name, that stupid, dear nickname Jim had bestowed on him when they first met even meant. What he meant to Jim.

Pain shot through his chest, ripping at his heart and filling his mouth with an ashen taste. He wanted to be sick, throw up the panic, the denial, the blank fear taking space in every part of his body as loss so all compassing it threatened to drown him swept through him.  

Jim opened his mouth to say something, anything, although his mind was devoid of any words that could ever voice what he had just lost, only to be interrupted by Spock. At some point during Jim’s internal meltdown, he had left his crouch to take up position next to him and Bones moved his phaser towards the Vulcan, eyes widening slightly at the realization that he was outnumbered.

The face of his first officer was stoic, his reaction to this revelation hidden behind as calm a mask as Jim had ever seen him wear.

“Irrelevant for the moment. You have said that you are with Starfleet and we, therefore, cannot. Yet I assure you that both Captain Kirk and I are in active duty. Would our Fleet badges be proof of that?”

Bones bit his lip, eyes switching between them.

“How do I know they are real? They could be forged.”

Spock inclined his head in agreement.

“Indeed. However, you have accused us of working with the Klingons and of betraying our people, although I assume you referred to humans in this context. I presume you suspect that we have come to kill you and your- colleagues, is that correct?”

Bones nodded, looking insecure.

“Then why would we go to the trouble of forging a Fleet badge if we had planned to kill you all along? What is more, why would we still be here talking to you, trying to convince you, if we could have killed you approximately 2.5 minutes ago? You were not aware that I was still conscious. I could have easily shot you the moment you left your cover.”

As much as he hated to admit it, but Spock’s logic seemed to have an effect. Bones furrowed his brow, gnawing at his lip as he contemplated them. It cracked his heart even more open, to see his friend regard them with such distrust and, although he hid it very well, a barely perceptible amount of fear.

“Why- why do you think we would work with the Klingons?”

Jim hated the shaky quality of his voice, but he couldn’t help it. His emotions were playing havoc on him and it took all his will power to appear at least marginally in control.

“That’s- that’s what Centrich said. Because of the attacks- the metreon cascades on Earth… You’re mercenaries, you would do anything for money, even accept the death of millions.”

Anger crept back in Bones’ voice at the accusation, but he didn’t sound as convinced as before.

A thought lodged itself in Jim’s brain, nagging for his attention, pointing at a connection but he ignored it for now. The bigger picture could wait.

“No one attacked Earth with metreon. There has been a – catastrophe, in San Francisco, but that was due to- internal reasons, a rogue agency within Starfleet operating independently. _They_ were fucking trying to start a war, accepting the death of thousands…”

Jim broke off, voice breaking at the surge of hot fury rushing through him at the thought of what Section 31 had done in their arrogance, of what these agents here must have done to Bones in their belligerence.

A warm hand on his wrist brought him back to the present, anchoring him in the now. Spock’s eyes flickered to his momentarily, then his concentration was back on Bones.

“You say that Commander Centrich told you we would work for the Klingons. Did he also claim that the Klingons were behind the attacks he told you about?”

The insecurity was back in Bones’ eyes, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

“That’s what all of them said. I- when I woke up here, Doctor Tyrell said there had been four attacks with metreon cascades by the Klingon Empire. That’s why we were working in secret…”

He trailed off, eyes getting a far away look as if he remembered a past conversation.

“Why did she have to tell you at all?” Spock asked gently.

Bones’ gaze sharpened again, and Jim noted how he gripped the phaser’s handle tighter again.

“None of your business.”

“Very well. I assume due to the secret nature of your operation that you couldn’t leave the facility?”

The doctor nodded curtly.

“And did you not wonder why, if it was such an essential operation as you were told, there were only four other people working on it apart from yourself?”

Based on Bones’ expression, Jim guessed that Spock had hit a weak spot. That he had indeed wondered but hadn’t thought to question it further because to him it had seemed plausible.

Plausible only because they must have done something to his mind, something to have him forget the events of the last few months.

To have him forget his life on the Enterprise if he didn’t recognize Spock either.

Maybe even his Academy years if he didn’t even know Jim.

He would have to pay the punching back in the gym another visit.

Bones was pressing his lips together into a thin line, apparently unable to counter that argument.

“The four people you have been working with – they are escaped prisoners, former agents of Section 31, an independent agency within Starfleet dissolved in the wake of the San Francisco attack. Apart from stealing Fleet equipment and weapons, they are also guilty of the kidnapping of my chief medical officer.”

Jim held Bones’ gaze at the words, willing him to believe him, to understand what he was implying. And whatever these agents had done to him, his quick mind at least hadn’t suffered from it. The doctor paled, eyes widening and his arms still pointing the phaser at them slowly lowering.

“Me?!”

Jim nodded and watched as Bones took in a shaky breath, one hand leaving the weapon’s handle to brush through his hair.

“I- I don’ remember. When I woke up here- I didn’t remember anything and they- Tyrell told me I had an accident. And it made sense- it would explain the amnesia….”

_Amnesia._

Jim’s stomach lurched and his vision distorted itself for a second as he felt tremors run through his body.

Fuck, what in the world had they done to his friend to have suffered from amnesia? How extensive was it?

“Show me your badges.”

There was something pleading in the doctor’s voice, something almost desperate in the way he was asking them for proof.

Fumbling with fingers suddenly gone clumsy, Jim fished out his badge from the pocket inside his jacket, Spock next to him doing the same.

They held the small devices in front of them and Bones snapped them out of their hands before he retreated to a safe distance again, weapon still in hand, but at least not directly pointed at them anymore.

Jim watched as he activated the small holograms, as images of himself and Spock flickered in the air in front of Bones’ face, mirrored in his brown eyes. He saw the doctor’s eyes move rapidly, looking over their identification and sparse personal information, although what exactly he was looking for Jim couldn’t tell. If he couldn’t remember his time at Starfleet, how would he be able to identify a badge as real or not?

 If felt like an eternity but was probably a minute at the most when Bones finally seemed to accept their story, leaning against the desk behind which he had hid and placing the badges on its smooth plane.

“I don’t even know…. God dammit!” Bones buried his face in his hands, only to move them up and pull at his hair in obvious frustration.

Jim couldn’t help himself, his worry pouring over at the sight and with a few steps, he was next to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The flinch was another punch in the gut, but at least Bones didn’t move away as he looked at Jim, gaze weary.

“I know this is a lot. But you’re not alone, I promise. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

A small spark of gratefulness glimmered in the doctor’s eyes as he regarded Jim before he nodded slightly.

A wave of relief hit him then, leaving Jim as shaky as the panic had.

They had found him. It wasn’t as he had hoped, it wasn’t ideal, but Bones was here, in front of him, alive and at least bodily well. He was save, finally in reach so Jim could touch him, see him, assure himself over and over again that they had done it, they had found him alive.

Tears pricked at his eyes and Jim blinked to force them back. Instead he settled for giving Bones’ shoulder a squeeze.

He would probably have to drop the nickname though. Explaining it really was too complicated for the moment and it would help to take on the role of Captain Kirk for now. Put some barrier between himself and his emotions.

“We should check in with the rest of the team, see if they found all of the fugitives yet.”

Jim perceived Spock’s nod at the periphery of his vision and picked up their badges, putting them away.

“Let’s go, Doctor McCoy.”

The change happened within a blink of an eye. Jim saw Bones stiffen at the name and the careful acceptance that had started to radiate from him morphed back into open distrust, tension back in his entire frame.

Confused, Jim was about to say something, but Bones beat him to it.

“It’s Steve. My name’s Steve George.”

Before Jim could react, he was confronted with a phaser aiming directly at his face, the one he hadn’t thought to take from his friend because it was Bones, and Bones would never hurt him. Up close, he could recognize the setting.

It wasn’t set on stun.

Bones’ eyes had hardened, regarding Jim coolly while constantly flickering back to Spock as well to keep him in sight.

“You almost had me there, you know? Don’t know what you think to gain by turning me against the others but I’m not playing it and I’m certainly not leaving with you to who knows where!”

He lifted the phaser higher, gaze not wavering from Jim.

“So, unless you want me to shoot you, you’ll step aside, and you and the hobgoblin over there will let me leave unhindered.”

_Hobgoblin._

Bones had called Spock “hobgoblin”, something no one else Jim knew would ever think to call a Vulcan. And while the majority of his mind was still very much concerned with the threat of possibly being killed by his best friend, there was a quick rush of electric excitement running through him at the word. It meant that things might not be as hopeless. That despite what Bones had said, his amnesia might not be as bad.

A shot past his left ear brought him back to the present really quick.

“I said move!”

Something seized painfully in Jim’s chest at the words. Bones wouldn’t have shot. He might have bluffed but he wouldn’t have shot, at least not that close to someone’s face, ever the doctor and aware of the damage that even a phaser set on stun could do to the body.

But looking in the eyes of Steve George, Jim realized he had no idea if that still held true.

_Steve George._

Fuck.

How much of his friend’s identity had Section 31 taken?

“Very well. You may leave, we will not detain you. Captain, move aside to let the doctor pass.”

For a second Jim thought that Spock would really let Bones leave without any further protest – which would be pointless anyway as there were so many other Fleet officers outside that he was bound to run into someone. His eyes jumped to Spock in surprise and that was when he really took in how they were positioned.

During their exchange, Spock had carefully and slowly changed position, placing Jim between the door and Bones, the desk to his left and Spock to his right and a bit behind Bones, standing further inside the room. If he stepped closer to the table, Bones had to move between Jim and his first officer. Placing the doctor within reach of the Vulcan.

Swallowing, Jim lifted his hands calmingly as he moved to the side, praying that Spock was thinking along the same lines.

Frame tense and obviously not trusting them to keep their word, Bones kept the phaser pointed at Jim’s head as he slowly stepped into the direction of the door.

When he saw Spock nod almost unperceptively, Jim let his gaze purposefully wander to a spot somewhere behind Bones’ left shoulder and opened his eyes wide as if in surprise, letting his mouth go slack.

One of the oldest tricks in the books, and Bones completely fell for it as he reflexively turned his body in small degrees to see what had Jim react that way, taking his gaze away from his target. It was the opening Spock had been waiting for.

Stepping closer, his first officer grabbed Bones at the spot between shoulder and neck before the other fully realized what was about to happen. There was a brief flicker of panic in hazel eyes before they closed, the doctor’s entire body going slack as he fell unconscious under the Vulcan nerve pinch. Spock caught him before he could hit the ground, phaser dropping from lose fingers to the ground with a soft thud.

Looking at his unconscious friend, at the phaser next to him, Jim was hit with the realization of what had just happened.

Bones had threatened to kill him.

The one person Jim knew he could always trust, would never harm him had pointed a phaser at his head and had by all appearance been ready to squeeze the trigger.

There were so many things wrong with that statement, so many emotions trying to battler their way to the surface but Jim pushed them down.

Not now.

He couldn’t allow himself to feel even one of them or he would lose it.

Instead he stepped closer and knelt down next to Bones to place one of his arms over his shoulder. Sensing Spock doing the same on the other side, Jim felt another painful seizure in his chest when he looked at his friend’s lax face.

It hurt. His chest seemed to have become one big bruise in the last ten minutes. His heart, his lungs: every heartbeat, every breath hurt.

Schooling his face into as neutral a mask as he could manage, Jim stood up and together they started the way back to the exit.

And the entire walk, feeling the doctor’s weight pressing down on his shoulders, Jim couldn’t help but fear that he may have lost his friend for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked how I resolved the situation, let me know what you think! And yeah, Bones doesn't know Jim and practically threatened to shoot him but at least he's no longer in the hands of Section 31.... I count that as an absolute win ^^
> 
> I'm not sure if I will be able to update in the next four weeks so I will remove the note claiming such an optimistic time frame! I'm in the end throes of my master thesis and moving to another country in two weeks, starting a new job there, so you might have to wait as long as for this chapter, unfortunately! But don't worry, the next update will come! And the wait is half the fun right? Right! ^^


End file.
